Posted in Poetry


there is a sense

that exists beyond

our vision

and while it rarely

makes itself known

the impassioned

can fathom both

pleasure and pain;

the game is to choose wisely.

Posted in Musings

I see and feel and sometimes I rather not witness what lies behind the eyes. Yours appear calloused. Impenetrable. I call you a hero. You save me from the pain. In a weird way your sorrow blesses me and you suffer alone. 

Posted in Poetry


Wretched days and shameful nights
forgiveness alludes
the family whose wounds
speak to a weary clouded sky.
Child accused for all the wrong
with dad and mom and home
not acknowledging the aching
lips she keeps shut tight.
Oh save us, the child cries
scared to move at night
the beasts in the window
screaming a great fright.
No one comes to save
images prepare to fade
if only the day would
send some grace for these endless wretched ways.