Sotto Voce Poems

Brisk Bright Colors Blown across an
Immense Board of Possibilities.
Marvel at the Mind's Hidden Imagination.
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Just the thought of quietly Possesing;
Someone so Precious, most Worthy of Caressing.
And Keeping, and Holding, and Squeezing so close.
A Woman, a Friend, a Queen of the Most.
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How can I Write without YOU?
When You are the Honey, and I am the Bee.
When You are the Land, and I am the Sea.
When You are the Music, and I am the Song.
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If I am the Damaged Flower that Struggles
Through Multi-Layered cold Concrete,
Then Watch Slowly as Life will not be Denied, no Matter what Apparent Obstacle.
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We are We. And when We learn that We and alone can Overcome All We ever Feared; and Right the Wrongs of centuries Past; then We will Finally understand that it Is We and Only We The People; who can Solve Our Problems.
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I Write this Letter, while Dark, Heavy Storms,
Gather quietly in the Heavens, to Plot Mayhem.
My Fingers Wrestle with stagnant Pen, as I
Assemble Jumbled thoughts of just what to Say.
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Who am I, to Stand Guard of False Perception,
And be a Recipient of Celebrated Infection?
Who am I, to Run from well Hidden Shame,
That Quietly Strangles; First to Blame?
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My Mind is like the Moon,
And the Sun is my Thought.
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I ask, I plead; I negotiate in Hidden Silence.
Do Our Rites of Passage consists of Open Violence?
Must we count the Coffins that are never Sealed.
Can we really afford Deferred Dreams to be Killed?
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Solutions to Problems or
Excuses for Failures.
We Grapple with Choices
That Burden Our Layers.
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