Where Will They Go?

The things I have created

alive, glowing, new

seem to vanish slowly

into the past, collected

but not seen, known

to their design, their intent.

Hoped for big places, resided

in small

or in a book, under papers,

in corners, broken frames.

They helped me in a time of need,

catharsis, longing,

a desire to make sense of…

Who will see these?

Where will they go?

Will they see the light I hope

they deserve?

I have no choice but to be content

with where they’ve brought me,

a belief in the power of creating;

a hope of things not yet seen

and a desperate,

silent cry,

for help.

The Midnight Sun

I wish to see you

every hour of every day,

watch the sun come up with you

and watch it as it goes down.

Making coffee, holding mugs

interlacing our fingers one by one

each hour goes by and I miss you more.

Our desire like the midnight sun

never sleeps but glows brighter.

The winter has a way of connecting

our souls in the silence of its balance

of long days and sleepless nights

learning to rest, learning to wait.

How valuable it is to grow in

the delay of gratification,

finding that we took the right risk

in letting each other in.