No One Ever Wrote a Poem for You

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You show me a skull, tell me you scare people,

and you don’t believe in God.

I nod and listen, smile a little, and hold out my hand.

Come with me, let’s walk together.  Take my hand –

It’s warm, you say – yours is, too, but I knew it would be.

Let’s walk the shore and you tell me why God can’t exist.

I promise to hear you, if you promise to stop with me,

close your eyes and listen to the way waves

feel as they gather toward shore, and break

their release to the sand in song.  And see the shells,

and the driftwood, each one a different sea sailor.  Listen;

they will tell you stories of voyages and places you could

never know.  Breathe the salt air, know it like home,

like carefree summer days and moonlit nights, it holds you.

Now let the words go and watch as my sun floats to the waiting

sea, his arms outstretched to embrace her.  Do you feel the yellow?

I watch you close your eyes, and I wrap my arms around you

as the shades of glow and sincerity wash through you. Quiet.

The sun has gone and sweet blue shines the sand.  You turn

around silently to hug me. I feel it. Watching you drive away,

I see you smiling.  There is love all around you.

God just followed you home.

I Found Your Heart Today

I found your heart today, as I walked the shore.

The sun hung low in the early winter sky; it was waiting

for me, light cast through empty branches, subdued,

whispering to me to look among the sand and stones.

And I did, though I didn’t know why.  I shuffled my feet

along golden shore, listening to the songs of shore birds,

as sun touched my neck tenderly, knowing what I would find.

I stumbled, felt a tear on my cheek, and, under my hand,

the coldest stone.  I lifted it up and saw your heart.

Closing my eyes, I clasped it in my hand, but it did not warm,

and the sun left us alone on the sand.  Having no use

for a heart of stone, I skipped it across the water,

a poignant mirror of sky.

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Gracious November

I walked two miles with my eyes closed,

while autumn’s colors crunched beneath my steps.

Now and again I stumbled, but righted myself,

and continued on my way.  The sparrows

listened to my miles and asked, “Why?” and when

I did not answer or open my eyes, again, “Why?”

The path knew my steps well and did not change.

November sheds a gracious scent, knowing

he’s an older gentleman, and I breathed in, and took

his hand, walked on until the circle’s end.  And there

I opened up my eyes again.  Daylight had fled,

leaving me there to greet the night, with gracious November,

my friend.

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