If She Might Ever Know

It will be only she

my mystique

her muse

I listen to a soft cello

in sad tears in the background

they cry out her notes

of waning despair,

I wonder if she might everĀ  know

will only be her.


Oh I’m told I have a flirt

in my body,

there is a smile

a curvaceous sometime

appeal come playful

that is apparent

in the light of day,

in a quiet darkness,

yet there is no one

causes me such

passion to want to please

then her,

when near me

I might again find her eyes

under a blue moon,

and together we could play

with the music of our lives.


How is it possible

that in a world of similar

being, pattern, lifestyle

that a singular moment

would create

such a yearn

that would swallow any other

massive audience of similarity,

so that this one


would be our own

soft and passionate, our quiet,

our silent,

heart and soul.


It is she whom I cry for, I muse,

I lose my direction apart her mystique.


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

Empty Spaces

Walking inside a dream

a certain figure inside she is crying

her shadow draws him

convinced she is who he believes.


I found a picture this morning,

walked inside the room

could recall the happy smiles

couldn’t help but cry again.


She spoke of wanting freedom,

I didn’t fit any longer

her words in letters spoke of love

in reality I spoke too soon.


These are the empty spaces today

Those were the memories we made.

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

-for Zelda