The Epitaph

If I ever get an epitaph, I wish for it be this.

I wish one day, not
to be known for my face, my eyes.
I wish people could remember me
as the one who wrote these lines.

Wings

Written eight years ago.

I mourn oftentimes for

that bird - no flight

-wingless wings, yet its

sweet song of delight.

To love a rose

An ode to love.

A tinge of red to the night
and an angel from my sky
showers dew on my rose
and moistens my eyes.

Everyday I shall ask myself as
my sun dies and is reborn,
'Why for the love of a single rose,
my angel serves a thousand thorn?'

Poet's Mind

In my mornings
as the sun breaks through my faint,
a tiny hand colors my world
with crayons and paint.

I don’t want to see
I want to be blind
I see the unseen
I have a poet’s mind.

Wings

I mourn oftentimes for
that bird- no flight
-Windless Wings yet its
sweet song of delight.