The pulse of the Universe
has a louder beat than my heart.
The sound of believing is continuous,
I am the embodiment of hope, as always.
Continuous, perfect, precisely spaced amounts
of blood traveling through me and my systems.
Energy is a constant around me,
flexible, friendly, and lives forever.
When the energy between us is good,
(Oh, but I love you infinitely.)
When I am dancing with my eyes closed –
this is what I'm talking about.
That's the way things are with me.
I stand as close as possible to the sound
and let the pulse of the Universe
flow through me,
ocean current flow,
dancing with my eyes closed
in my perfect space.
When they energy is good between us,
you know I do, I love you infinitely.
Monday, February 4, 2002
Friday, February 1, 2002
The Saddest Room
The saddest room in the house is me.
The air is still, the light is fading,
the walls weigh down on me like night sweats,
my emotions are a crime,
my words are a prison.
I can type but I can’t eat.
I can answer the phone but I can’t move,
I can't dress myself.
The pillows are all soft,
I wish I were soft.
The colors are all vibrant,
I wish I were vibrant.
I know I’m not asleep
but I still wish I could wake up
and find everything back in place
right where I left off last.
The saddest room in the house is me.
I don’t have the edge of anger,
I don’t have the sleep of peace,
I don't have my lover’s faith in me.
The emptiest room in the house is me.
Some words make no sense once uttered.
They only sound right when unspoken.
They are hard to pronounce
and sound foreign or
like static noise or rush hour traffic.
I have spoken my heart but it is too late,
I seemed to have kept it a secret far too long.
I have spoken my heart but it is too soon,
I didn’t wait long enough.
I have spoken and my words played
a dirty trick on me.
They betrayed me,
they switched each other out
like a child's game or a puzzle to his ears.
I no longer have any words,
and words are like furniture for expression.
I will slowly become silent
until I have nothing left to say,
until we have completely decorated this house
with my silence, because right now
the emptiest room in the house is me.
The air is still, the light is fading,
the walls weigh down on me like night sweats,
my emotions are a crime,
my words are a prison.
I can type but I can’t eat.
I can answer the phone but I can’t move,
I can't dress myself.
The pillows are all soft,
I wish I were soft.
The colors are all vibrant,
I wish I were vibrant.
I know I’m not asleep
but I still wish I could wake up
and find everything back in place
right where I left off last.
The saddest room in the house is me.
I don’t have the edge of anger,
I don’t have the sleep of peace,
I don't have my lover’s faith in me.
The emptiest room in the house is me.
Some words make no sense once uttered.
They only sound right when unspoken.
They are hard to pronounce
and sound foreign or
like static noise or rush hour traffic.
I have spoken my heart but it is too late,
I seemed to have kept it a secret far too long.
I have spoken my heart but it is too soon,
I didn’t wait long enough.
I have spoken and my words played
a dirty trick on me.
They betrayed me,
they switched each other out
like a child's game or a puzzle to his ears.
I no longer have any words,
and words are like furniture for expression.
I will slowly become silent
until I have nothing left to say,
until we have completely decorated this house
with my silence, because right now
the emptiest room in the house is me.
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