Poems

Solitude. He spoke of solitude. But oh! How a man can want what he does not have, Until all illusions are left behind in the silence that broke his soul. And gone is he now,

And the fire in the ashes Warms the voices lost below - Gone are not the secrets Of long forgotten sorrow.

You left a message on my phone, I sit awaiting your call; But hours pass, I realize You'll never ring at all.

Return me, please, to the home I once knew, To the sod and the dirt and the old earthen hue Bequeathed by an angel, but lost to the new My memory serves as reminder to you.