If you don’t write
everything down
Then at least take
everything in
Seeds once planted,
ripen and grow
A blind eye,
—the killer within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
My Spoken Lord
Devoted to my writing,
a prayer with every word
Faithful to each line I write,
my verse—my spoken Lord
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
All Heaven In Sight
As a writer,
I create my own freedom
And as a writer,
I invent my own friends
As a writer,
I espouse my own truth
And as a writer,
my will never bends
As a writer,
I travel the world
And as a writer,
that journey’s within
As a writer,
I dive for more pearls
And as a writer,
never having to swim
As a writer,
the moon rises at dawn
And as a writer,
the sun burns through the night
As a writer,
my words play immortal
And as a writer,
—all heaven in sight
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Or Turn You Out
Is remembrance now a hidden tenant,
that lives throughout your home
Does it lurk in every corner,
to come out when you’re alone
Is that voice heard down a distant hall,
a lost child once left about
Does the face now staring through the dark,
draw you in—or turn you out
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)