Tears inevitably come.

They will fall.

If you must cry, let your tears flow freely without restraint.
No holding back.

The night has ears that smile.

Soft, caring and attentive.

It cradles secrets.

The night is a river snaking through dreams,

resurrecting memories and giving life to desires.

If I had one wish
It would be to sit one last time by the sea feasting over dinner
to finish the laughter you ignited within me;
and to hear again those stories you penned so beautifully with your eyes.
I would gladly loiter on the sun-kissed, tree-lined shorelines of time
and soak up the beautiful brackish scents of your company. If I had one wish
It would be to sit one last time by the sea feasting over dinner
to finish the laughter you ignited within me;
and to hear again those stories you penned so beautifully with your eyes.
I would gladly loiter on the sun-kissed, tree-lined shorelines of time
and soak up the beautiful brackish scents of your company.

I wish I were a poet,

with superpowers to persuade moods,

cajole words and bend them to my will.
I would massage and juxtapose them,
and infuse them with special meanings.
With brazen sleight of hands,

I would summon verbal images

to gather possibilities out of thin air.

Hindsight pretends to have perfect vision,

but don't be fooled.
It can only recognise the past.
It professes to have knowledge and sound judgement,

but it lacks foresight.
Don't let it question your aged decisions.
They were made with the insight of inexperience.

I waited...

to relax in the shadow of your smile, but we were never there.
At the bottom of the hill, commingling with time,
gathering flowers and planting seeds.

We were eager;
perhaps too eager to tame the ragged surfaces of the climb.

He holds his fears close to his chest like treasures, almost.

And prays.
He believes if he pretends long enough, time will eventually devour them.
He shields his mind in a hushed symphony of wounded silence and refuses to feel.
Real men do not cry.

Love can sometimes die a slow death

when conversations cease.

But love is not impetuous.
Like Hansel and Gretel, it leaves subtle clues hidden in plain sight.
It occasionally dishes out nuggets of wisdom.
But, it would never shy away from asking the hard questions -
whether irrational or rational.
However, without answers

seeds of doubt take roots and sprout in multiples.