Safe.

A line remains drawn
Between safe and not
Barely separating us
From what we've sought
In lonely moments and long talks

We've studied cautiously, the unknown

Hinted quietly and spoken blatantly 

Screamed or wanted to and whispered subtly

Wondering what reaped would be sown

Still, a line remains drawn

Between safe and not

Waking me in an empty dawn

Safe inside my unsafe thoughts

Outside the words inside our talks

The Fear of Poetry

Your voice was my beacon

Through a time I couldn't speak in

I closed my eyes because all I could do

Was reach through my darkness for you

I found reprieve and I found sleep

...beside you, in me, on you, wildly

I found that you got me -

- or at least you tried

While I put my face in my hands to hide

Unrelenting silence to cover hidden truth

Afraid of what my poetry would prove:

Your voice was my beacon

Through a time I couldn't speak in

And when I opened my eyes to know you

I found I had walked swiftly through.

Fabricated.

While stumbling through fabrications of the night

                     I fell 

|through a door|

                                                                           long kept closed

Memoirs spilled from the pages of my mind

And inundated a space only a dream could find.

Good-bye Christmas.

The battle to push Christmas out

Was won when the tree went down

Scattered pine needles on the carpet

Are evidence of Big Pine's forfeit.

The ornaments are back in the box,

The fireplace took off its socks

Bright wrappings are gone,

No more red and green songs…

 I look forward to days that are warm

And long.