young

A Little Bit of Moonlight

The moon has a crooked yellow smile

French crooning airs all the while

I walk with my brothers, three,

My brothers walk with me.

We rinse our soles in the dew,

Blessed as the starry secret’s few,

Alone I tire, but now together we’ve flown

They are my fire. They are my stone.

Love vibrates in my hands.

Lighting up like lunar sands.

I have her voice in my pocket,

Heart in my locket.

A tender word from the night,

From the dark data sea, out of sight.

Given by the stork of the stars,

A little piece of moonlight is ours.

Surely I know this love is no phase,

When she whispers verse not phrase

“A million worlds await” she spoke

And the night of our youth is a smoke

That is worthy

Of poetry.

The Snows Of Time

The old man took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the cup of coffee he held before his face. It brought warmth to his being, but his exhalation came out nonetheless as a sigh, fogging up the icy pane of glass out of which he was looking. This was the kind of sigh that would have surprised his wife, bless her soul, were she around to hear it. She would have raised her eyebrows out of surprise, a precursor to her baking fresh cookies to be delivered with a kiss, but those days were gone now. He turned from the snowy evening street and faced into his shop. Here too was a life companion that had heard very few of those sighs, and this too he was now losing. (more…)