What can tell you more than these unworthy hands
how long must our eyes meet before you understand
give me but a moment and I will show you true
but a moment to see, as I see you.

I breathe. I dream. I ache. I yearn.
I hope. I soar. I crash. I burn.
The cinders and ash swept aside.
Wicked fate! Such a twisted guide.
Like the Phoenix, once more I rise.
Fly away to my own demise.
Rays of gold erase all but now.
Surely this time. Some way. Somehow.
Let him glimpse the light, how it shines.
Forward, let not the past remind.
He will forget all that has come.
All the pain, the scars undone.
Yesterday will be washed away.
His heaven can be found today.
Dreams the chorus in his hearts song.
Flowing eternal, on and on.
Wings soar into the setting sun.
Faster, higher, his spirt flung.
But here fate's smile begins again.
To fall from here, will spell his end.
Wicked fate! Such a twisted guide.
The cinders and ash swept aside.
Like the Phoenix, once more I rise.
Fly away to my own demise.
I breathe
I dream
I ache
I yearn
I hope
I soar
I crash
I burn

For over two weeks, I have been coughing and fevered. Days are spent struggling for breath and wishing for that one cigarette that will end this cough. Nights are pure exhaustion thst leads to collapse and fever fed dreams. Each night the same. Stripped to the imperfect bones, and facades peeled away. Frantically awakening, covered in sweat, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I struggle and fail time after time, fever drags me back into a new nightmare. Every night, every hour, all of my demons dance.

Every night, every hour, all but four. In those four feverish hours, I spent days with you. As happy and complete as I have ever been. The demons were held at bay. For those precious few hours, I was me, and nothing more. I was me, and it was enough. You were everything I ever wanted and so much more.

My heart aches, each time it hears your name. It has not arms, but it reaches out, all the same. Hoping one day to touch you, and bring those beautiful eyes into view.

Love's beginnings are like blackberries' blooms. Delicate and beautiful, harkening a delicious bounty to arrive soon. Love blossoms and spreads its beauty for the world to see. Like a flash, bright, brilliant, and gone, leaving behind promises of what is to be. Love doesn't end with the petal's fall. True love does not end at all. It goes on to play many more beautiful parts. Life is not without injury; love, like the blackberry's fruit, is the reward of a patient heart .

Just a moment is all I ask
Love me for just a moment,
and I will stop time.

I am but a whisper away. I am yours, from this day and evermore.

Kiss me. I am yours. Kiss me, until there is nothing more. Kiss me. Let me feel forever true. Kiss me until all that remains of me is you.

He is 7 years old, with the biggest brown eyes you have ever seen. He is his daddy's image and his mother's baby. His hair is a sun bleached borderline blonde that is fresh from a cut with his mother's razor comb. His nails as ever are black. Exploration is his nom de plum. He has snuck his way underneath every home within four blocks and searched the crawl spaces for rolly pollys, snakes, bones, and other treasures. There does not exist a street drain within a mile that he has not entered and mapped back into his secret spy network deep in the woods. He has it all figured out. When they come, he is ready. They can't follow him through the drains. They are too big. He will use the drains to lure them into the woods. Once they are there, he has them. They will chase him into the swamp. Only he knows the safe path through the suck mud. They will be trapped. He had to abandon his idea for a crawdad and frog army. It was a slightly flawed pairing. The crawdads kept eating the tadpoles. He, however, still has his arsenal of rocks, English walnuts, and old hickory clubs carefully stashed nearby. They will be done for.

It is funny. He had no concept of who "they" were, or why they would be invading, but he had his battle plans all mapped out. The suck mud plan was solid. He nearly died a dozen times finding that "safe" path. The things young minds can come up with. The places they can go. As a child, I was pretty much relegated to small corner of the world. My woods, my creek, and my river made up my entire world. It was, however, bigger than the sky itself. Bottle diamonds and clay banks were my treasure trove. English walnuts and old hickories my arsenal. Giant oaks and maples my ladder to the heavens, and gravity my constant foe. I never killed a bird, a rabbit, a squirrel, a possum, or a coon, but they all felt those pudgy little hands with the dirty nails, and knew they were beat. For the record, the all bite, pinch, and claw in some form or fashion. I was a small child, it was a very small place, but I lived so very big within earshot of mom.

Looking back, she was the one who set me loose on the world. I was her baby, and she was raising a good boy. So, it was never a looming shadow pointing out a path. She simply said, "you better stay where you can hear me." Sound carries a long way in a quiet southern town, and a little boy has fast bare feet. Thank you mom for letting him run and dream. Even today, you never point a path. You simply say, "momma loves you baby," and let me run. I have never done anything to deserve you, and likely I never will. If it wasn't always clear, I loved you then, and I always will.

If a tear should ever fall
from those beautiful eyes
I will move the clouds and all
wipe the grey from your sky
A hope, just one simple kiss
more than a life's dream come true
Here let me die, just like this
with my heart, my all for you