A Woman's Heart

Listen close my dear friend-

Listen to my words.

The heart of a woman is beautiful,

But freer than a bird

You cannot cage It, lest It die,

Nor teach It in your ways;

But give It wings that It may fly,

And soar for all Its days

For when you love her for who she is

And give her, her due praise;

Then she will love you in return-

In the most beautiful of ways

For when a bird in safety flies

It sings a song of love.

Which is echoed back into your lives

From Him who is above

So listen now all you who feel

That love has lost its stay-

Give freedom to your dove’s dear heart

That He may show the way

Happening Again

It’s happening again,

But this time my feelings

Feel so worn thin,

And I wish I knew what

Was expected of me

So that I wouldn’t let you down-

Or miss opportunity

Now I have eyes to see.

Unfortunately I found

It’s too late for me.

Perhaps it is better

To just let it be,

But I never knew

What you thought of me

One Less

If you looked into the sky tonight
Wondering why your world is in plight.
Wondering if your thoughts are heard
Hoping for those hopeful words

Then know that I listened
Know that I cared.
Though I cannot see you
My heart was right there

Because I did the same,
I pondered on life.
I wished for a day
When there would be light

And I thought of you dearly
With as much hope as I had-
Because every night passing
Is one less to be sad

The Tear

With impregnable fortitude of heart he stood. His mind and soul had weathered all the schemes that this earth could thrust upon him, and even those which hell itself had seemed to spout out. But at the sight of one tear falling down her weathered, rosy cheek, his world fragmented into a thousand pieces for which no hope of recollection could be found — save but by the thought that if he could bring her a lifetime of happiness, he might reverse and make penance for the crime of this one tear.

I Sent You a Message

I sent you a message
On a shooting star
Because I know not
Where you are

But thought that this
Falling star might know
Because like you
It has a radiant glow. 

I sent you a message
On the waves of the sea
Because like water
You're life to me

I pushed them back
Into the great, big blue
Hoping they would wash 
Ashore to you.

I sent you a message
On a wisp of wind
Because I cannot touch
Your skin

I gave it a kiss
To place on your cheek
And a warm embrace
To give you heat.

I sent you a message
In a flower red
Because of your beauty-
What can be said?

How can beauty
Ever find this soul
Until it has seen one
Such as yours?

The Night Pianist: A Short Story - Part 1

                Her beleaguered eyes found no solace in closing. Instead, the empty apparitions of the night haunted her lonely and pensive soul. Silence pursued her with fiery vengeance for every word she had spoken, or left unspoken. Stillness clawed her heart for every idle moment and every misplaced step she had unfortunately wrought. Darkness burned her mind for every deep and shallow thought she had dared to think. Thus the night had chained her, petrified, upon the bed of her remorse.

                But then a sound, barely distinguishable from the silence surrounding her, played in a long, beautiful note. It was softly, but purposefully, joined by others until a graceful and placid harmony was formed. As each note peacefully echoed into her ear, the bonds of the sepulchral night were shattered from her mind

                Her feet lightly touched the cold wooden floor as she soundlessly glided down the hallway towards the author of her freedom. She arrived at the open doorway of the study and stood breathlessly as her eyes beheld the display. A lone figure sat at the piano, gently pressing its ivory keys. His face was illuminated by the glow from the full moon, which shone through a large window. The entire room was basked in luminescence and shadow.

                She stood and watched, not daring to interrupt such an ethereal scene, fearing that even the slightest disturbance would break its link to her reality. Every second passed as an eternity – holding all the history, beauty, and depth that a soul could contain. The bookcases which lined the wall seemed to grow taller as they reached into shadows untouched by the moon’s illumination. They stood as sober and salient guards of the knowledge and wisdom contained within their chests. Against the wall opposite her stood an erect and lonely clock, its face scantly lit by the reflection of the moon atop the polished piano. The pianist seemed to play with the tick of the second hand, as if time were the very meter of his heart and mind.

And then – Silence.