Once I walked with you, talked with you, shared my deepest thoughts with you. I laid myself open to whatever fate you should decide. And now, here I stand, Both the mourner and the dead, Standing at your grave.


Bump Little bump not even there, Smaller than a wisp of air, So potent and burdened with the possibilities, Of a little life that cannot be.


  Check it on GUM   The rose that blooms before its time, in winter when the trees are stark, is no more beautiful than a rose garden. But with each petal that starts to wilt, feels so much more than what’s to come when a hundred petals fall by one, and suffocate the floor….

To My Father

I’d like to share my first ever poem from the heart with you here. You may take from it what you wish. For me it’s an expression of the loss one can all too often feel for a living person… feel free to comment and share what it is to you!