They say good things are too good,
as if goodness must always come
wrapped in suspicion, tied tight with fear.
A gift we hesitate to open,
our hands shaking,
waiting for the explosion of imperfection
to burst through the seams.
Too Good To Be True Read More »
Poetry
Your trust in me is not given lightly,
it is a sacred bond, built over time,
and I am humbled by the way you offer it.
In your submission, you give me a piece of your soul,
allowing me to hold it with care and responsibility.
I drove five hours through the spine of Ontario,
two lanes humming like an old Hip song,
the sky pressing low, waiting to exhale,
Bobcaygeon awaits like some half-remembered dream,
a town know for a melody, lit by a myth.
I stood by the water where Gord must have stood,
where the past drapes itself over rooftops and docks,
and I waited for the stars to reveal themselves,
not hypothetical, not dull, not lost to the city’s haze,
but sharp as a whispered truth, rising one by one.
I am trusting you with more than my body.
I am trusting you with more than my breath.
I am trusting you with my submission, my will, my place.
I am trusting you with the space between who you are
and the dominant you are still becoming.
Distant dreams of love stretches across the miles like an unseen suspension bridge,
A fragile connection binding souls separated by distances wide,
This longing lingers heavy, like a mist, shrouding every thought,
Life is suspended, caught between highways and heartbeats,
Voices echo softly in the phone wires, reminders of what once was,
Each whisper carries the weight of dreams waiting to be realized.
Fully, Completely
You say my name like a half-remembered tune,
a song you hummed while locked in a trunk of a rusted-out car,
windows down, cigar smoke curling like ghosts,
before distance rewrote the chorus,
before we forgot what the verses meant.
A pine tree scratches on the roof, echoes in the night,
Snow blankets the cabin, but my mind is full of fright,
Every whisper of the wind sends panic through my veins,
Is it them waiting in the dark, or just my restless brain?
Scratches On The Roof Read More »
Poetry
A dominant stands like a lighthouse on the shore,
strong and unwavering against the shifting tides,
its beacon cuts through the darkest storms,
offering a steady guide for the one who sails,
never forcing, but shining the way forward.
A Lighthouse On The Shore Read More »
Poetry
They do not lie to shield your heart,
The truth would tear their plans apart.
The lies are told to keep control,
To shape your choices, guard their goal.