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This could have been the day

The portents came late

Noon had passed

Life was waning

Sun so bright

Not bright enough for the shadows

That fell

One by one

Upon filaments of hope

Whispers of prayers

Scent of love

The shadows fell

The day followed

Something still remained


Till tomorrow





the sun is killing me

shining right into the wound

spilling the pain for all to see

its glare merciless



the rays like daggers

and sweet all the same

loving and hating

while dying




the longing came suddenly

alighting like a bird

wings spread as far

as the heart could see

and in the silence

that followed

the great revelation

it spoke –

your name




I could close the door

Draw the curtains

Dim the light

Lay my head down

Bow and pray

Breathe and listen to the heartbeat

Lose all memory

Leave no trace

Swim upon the ocean

Float to heaven

And never return…




Art: Frida Kahlo, Without Hope, 1945



I saw your face

It was a dream

It was real

I don’t know

I saw your face

You were here

I missed you

Until the next time

When we are both cats…


Art: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Boy with a Cat






(…) and it was at that very moment that all the worlds collapsed into one. He was, and then he wasn’t, and the two states existed simultaneously. With here and now no longer valid, he stopped thinking. Forever. He was one.

The end



Art: Alex Grey


I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you

Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,

The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed

With a hollow rumbling of wings, with a movement of dark-

ness on darkness, (…)

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without


For love would be love of the wrong thing; (…)

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thoughts;

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the



Excerpt from Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot

In the lonely depth

In the sinking sun

With a silent movement

Moth wings against the night

A shadow falls like a dry leaf

And the earth sighs

A kiss of death on her lips

Shrouded mirrors beg for light

Lost images scratched on silver

With a silent movement

The end announces a new beginning.





I am fishing for help.

I am casting for salvation.

I am crying out for assistance.

I am sinking.

Help me.


Why when you are sinking too.


A word floats in….

It floats in silently…

It touches me…

It touches you…

Can’t you feel it?

It’s love.



And then…

The End.

Love eternal.


Ce-matin=St-Jean-de-MathaMy friend wrote this poem. And I felt every word…

for all that was lost,
something else was found … the curiosity,
for no particular reason,
to see what was inside.
sometimes i am released from
everything that was ever bad,
anything left to create a horrible memory.
sometimes it is all gone.
the only thing that i am left with is
the hope of something more –
that one day i’ll look up
and smile about what such a tragedy it was.



What to pack when you are leaving with no hope of return?

What to leave behind for others to pick?

How much can I carry?

How much do I need?

Do I say good bye?

To whom?

A list flutters in a corner of the mind?

“My suitcase holds:


compassion & empathy


my father’s love on a gold chain

my mother’s love in every cell of my body


space for the unknown


Where do I deposit it?

How long till the whistle blows?

I wait.