Honey, Come Home

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The attempt to describe what must only be felt will, at best, leave one longing for proof

It’s the warm, vintage light and the welcome white noise -eager footsteps not shuffling to greet you

There’s the “thank-you-God” eyes and the rules about kisses that apply to goodbyes and hellos

The dinner hour near, it is time to give chase to the table, for the smell of the sauce does compel 

Do you picture the taste, do you sense the good love, do you dare touch the gifts from above

I left the light on, my account is not wrong, but again, you must feel for yourself

How I Do

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How purely awful it would be
Were I a puppeteer
As if my vision for these dolls
Be more brilliant or more clear
Than dreams and hopes that they themselves
And The Creator too
Have knit within their very hearts
To which they ought make true

Release the strings I’m duty-bound
Performed with my delight
My sole request you let me gaze
Upon your gorgeous flight
And should you wish here is my hand
Holding my firm promise:
I’ll sing “Freedom,” honor your walk,
Applaud what you call bliss 

Sweet Green Man

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Without fail he bends his light in love to you
And colors your name in all the spaces of his places
Run to him girl, pot of gold

A more true bow in all the rain in all the world you’ll not find
Redeem his hope and offer up your second chance
Soothe him girl, pot of gold