micropoetry

Numbered are the daysof hunger stricken straysa woman's curving tastea paper police state.

LIFE__ SOFT EDGES__is a truth I will confess that we ofttimes find soft edges __o such a degree, our livesare well manifestof people__ kindliness.

Stars are shining, my dreams too

Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

I die a little,In the echo of your silence.

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Careful.The fall is quick,steep,and permanent.

I need to work on me.The mewithout you.

I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you...now who will save me.

Broken.As I search for hope,In the same eyesI lost it.

I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.