A Blind Eye (+3)

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)