Time is now my heartless jailer

Holding my full essence hostage

In hopes to force my transition

Through a loss- I refuse to abort

From my mind, soul, and heart

Marginalizing all my principles

That’s guided well my love forth

For not capitulating effortlessly                   

To their dark antithetical scheme

Swallowing of some bitter canard

And view life’s prism differently          

To weaken who I’ve always been       

One would think a loss is enough    

But regardless of what they want

My love doesn’t halt… its mission   


Poet of the Light © 2023

Free picture from Unsplash



It isn’t loneliness we feel  

But more of that frigid cold

In that formless hollowness

That’s adhered to our souls  

Even as we sit before a fire

Snaps, crackles, and pops!

In a prismatic-colored dance

Our cloak of worries slide off

Lured into a momentary trance

Escaping all the woes of strife

Laying down our guard a bit

As we sip- on brandy or wine

Having an internal dialogue

About still feeling… half froze


Poet of the Light © 2023


It’s like I no longer fit in myself

Time, a most careless container  

Nothing is right since you’ve left

Feels like I’m too constricted now

My bindings of life are too tight

It becomes hard to breath or even

Mutter out your name in silence

Causing my eyes break into tears   

Revisiting memories, we’ve shared    

Laughters in undeniable triumphs   

Hearing every single conversation

Back to the moment of your birth   

Emptiness, a wayward companion

When your soul has lost someone

Grief oft feels like I’m… imploding

Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Gantas Vaiu010diulu0117nas on Pexels.com


It is telling, much in the way

Footfalls echo down a hallway

The queer notion of presence

Is enough to be a disturbance

Stimuli are nursed impulses

Darkness feeds into our fears

Take us to unexpected places

Our cognizant is led by biases

Having achieved but a fallacy

After leaving logic in darkness     

We become frighted by sound

That is as innocent as a child

Returning to comfort of safety

To leave us feeling… infantile    


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Hossain Takir on Pexels.com

Ma fille

I question if absent mindedness

Has been that lingering shadow

Nefariously following me around

Like some stalker for broken hearts

That missed the boat for recovering

Since they’ve drifted from normalcy

Remaining on the peripheral of life

Caught between darkest and light     

Draining my energy to be- myself

Diverting my thoughts from now’s         

Nothing seems to be where I left it

I find things where I least expect          

My grief tells me I misplaced you

In that way, I’ve least… expected to


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Gantas Vaiu010diulu0117nas on Pexels.com

Hollow trunk

Its winter and yet I feel no cold

I stand here silently half naked

Why does this fog blanket me so?

Where has my loved Dawn gone?

There are answer I’ll never know  

That’s the thing about all nature

Too transient to remain very long

All my years failed to prepare me

For the unexpected of cruel seasons

Lack of heartless to become careless    

My aged cover hides scarred grains    

All my branches are nearly fruitless    

The glorious days have passed away

As horizontal edge draws… ever nearest


Poet of the Light © 2023

Not my photo.

Tight roping

Trauma can leave indelible marks

In our lives as well as on our souls

From early learning, life bestows

Resetting of our moral innateness

Creating built-in gaps for escape

Self-justification to ignore a truth

And most often its triggered by fear

Fear of punishment, fear of our loss

Fear of abandonment or our reality

Gaps- to make our default blind spots

Primarily in relationships, or things    

We’ll normally (by default) accept lies

To evade any conflict or internal pain    

Or blame ourselves for ill acts of others

Proxy gaslighters protect… loved liars


Poet of the Light © 2023

Note: All trauma is inexcusable abuse.

Photo by Marcelo Moreira on Pexels.com

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

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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~

Photo by Gianluca Grisenti on Pexels.com

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