A cold coming

April- a time of comprehension

That those who hunkered down

Neath winters premature blanket

Will not be returning to us again

Not, in the persona or our lifetime

April- is to remind us life goes on

It perseveres by its own set nature

But it lacks emotions or a heartbeat

Wears no frowned face or a shadow

So much unlike us- left to gardening       

Tending new growth of hope to forget

We hide profound pain in ourselves     

Like a secret the world mustn’t know

To prevent looking overly… human


Poet of the Light © 2023

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After letters, March 20th~year two

The snow was gently falling this morning, but warmer temperatures lay just over the southern horizon, if- they can convince the current headwinds their unwitting accomplice in delivering radiating sunrays to help melt our seasonal snowflakes. Come to think of it, spring was always your favorite season. I can vividly recall how much you wanted to simply go out and shovel all that white snowy blanket away and wake your sleepy garden of dormant plants. It was almost as if you had a green-shaded soul to match your innate green thumb. How you managed to till and plant all those seedlings, sprouted plants, and evergreens all on your own, still amazes me, even though I shouldn’t be.

You know, I believe there are times when the nature of this mountain also misses you. That ethereal energy we both recognized when we first started living here. Now and then as I sit, even in the wintery mix out on the front approach steps where we’ve chatted for hours and now, I hear in a tender and elusive like cry inside the sounds of winds that meander from the lower riversides, up through the meadows and rocky plateaus just below our ridge line where snowfall is always the deepest of all. I firmly believe this mountain adopted us both, in its own peculiar fashion. And when we lost you, a part of ourselves was lost with you too. I’ve come to believe special places like this mountain can get just as lonely as you or I.   

The setting of today’s sun will be crashing just yonder that westerly summit fold soon, but I’ve lost my palette to sit and watch that amberoid disappear all alone anymore. Besides, I’ve still got a few chores to finish up and your kitchen to tidy up after my late supper. Oh, how I miss hearing your voice more than ever, especially while chatting on steps about nothing more important than our shared moments.   

Poet of the Light © 2023/After letters collection~

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A dove’s flight

Time has nearly ceased to matter to me anymore

It has become an antiquated construct to stem worry

Obtuse footfalls used to be so insensitive to my sleep

When the object was to catch back up in a lost race

I rise and lay down when I damn well, please

I’ve no duty other than heed the moment I do whatever it is I’m doing

Besides, the rest of the world is busy taking care of itself

I immerse myself in those events I avoided a lifetime before

For a plethora of reasons, one of which I was never reason enough to embark

I still haven’t found my perfected self in any of these things

But I do find a deeper sense of awareness, in microseconds now

Along with a clearer measure of acceptance of who I may yet become

Even if I am the only one who will ever learn of it  

And that is ok, for me in this… present day


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com


Can sequestration really be a choice,

If the alternatives require groveling?

The surrendering of one’s full dignity,

And treated as some unwanted pet?

Or might it be called preservational,

Acting kindly to oneself for a change?

Outside the established expectations,

That any punctuation brings shame?     

Or is such hideous treatment prelude,  

In a systematic source of vile natures?     

Purposely spurring someone to run off  

While simultaneously skirting any blame             

And causal to someone opting their exile

From a country, they once called… family


Poet of the Light © 2023


I’ve tumbled within my shadow

Where once I strolled in sunlight

My path, once known, now absent

It too lays beneath this blackness

I feel watery drops upon my skin

Yet, there’re no cloudy skies above

I hear the echoes of my breathing

Greater than I feel my heartbeats

It is not a place, yet it does exist

In its most extraordinary context      

I’m unsure if breezes caress me

Or if my thoughts turned rogue        

Still, within all my unsteadiness

I’ll move faithfully… in blindness


Poet of the Light © 2023

Six feet back

I see it now, in but my lateness

Warm temperatures for summer   

Our smiles where we’ve not sat

Nor admired the garden flowers

Whose scent didn’t excite the bees

Conversation that we’ll miss out on

Oh, how I used to enjoy those times

They’d spill over into looking back

Reminiscent of laughter, we had

In those microseconds of our lives       

Never appreciating the real present

In the presence of real life at hand

And we only become acutely hesitant

When we’re the last one left… standing


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com


Most things about me are natural

Not that anyone would ever know

And without meaning too

I wear darkness like a tailored suit

As if the moon and I were dating

In some but bizarre kind of way

Reminiscent of black and white films

I’m sure I’d have fit in back then

I triage new battle scars with words

My souls blood-drops are my tears           

Time is the only door to understand

What I feel and precisely who I am                  

But not even time is set in stone

At times I’m my best… on my own


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Jeswin Thomas on Pexels.com


There’re times I’m hit like a tidal wave

Knowing they’re echoes of my emotions

Still trying to find a new resting place

Trying to fit in where they don’t belong

And since you’ve been gone- it’s harder

Starting over when you can’t get started     

I’m a song that got lost and then caught

Here between who I am and who I’m not

I’m an instrument left without a sound         

Despite all this, I continue looking up

To see if you might be looking down        

Offering some answer or solution how      

Don’t know if the sun setting or if it’s dawn

Don’t know if subsistence…is moving on


Poet of the Light © 2023

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Dawn still remains hours away

But I stumble through the darker

Deciding to let the lights sleep in

I know every step I take in silence

At times it’s the most I can accomplish

I know where I’m heading and have been

I just never thought it be without you   

I get thoughts of you I can’t hold them

The way my arms are dying to again      

Every now and then I’m all messed up

When I can’t console my heart like you did   

I’m feeling tired but still too awake       

Still trying to believe this is all a mistake     

Something you’d never let me believe

You’re still the best part… I’ll be


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Ekaterina on Pexels.com


Living new aspects of love

Weigh heavily on my soul

Sometimes it feels as though

I’m lost in the glimmer’s glow

Overshadowed by brightness

Hidden from all I’ve known

Like ashes of a fire out of control

At mercy to the passing breezes           

I’m a star falling into darkness

Far beyond site of near horizons      

My voice is lost under a silence

Not even I can hear its utterances    

And I really wouldn’t mind at all

Knowing you’ll stop… my dissolve  


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Max Andrey on Pexels.com