Early morning calls,
and all that is silence.
To see the images in
a haze as I barely
understand life's calling.

Why do lover's kiss
with blind eyes?
When all they can
possibly understand
is open souls.

I do not know these
questions asked,
but slowly in
my dreams they come.

When I dream of women
who only come in
the darkest shade of
night.

All they give is
all I regret
that thy are not
here right now.

Blind is the summer
that slowly comes,
and bleak is the wine
that flows in
my crimson vines.

All that remains
is the hopes you
read, but will
fail when you
are gone.

04/23/2007

Posted on 04/23/2007
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