There is no white noise:
it’s a cacophony of
pandemonium.

Next generation,
whether nature or nurture,
we’re responsible.

His laugh lines faded
replaced by deep furrows of
worry and regret.

I am imprisoned
by these bitter memories
and my poor conscience.

The earth grows cold and
the leaves have left the trees like
ripples in a pond.

The mirror reveals
a face changed by the ages,
no trace left of youth.

The shadows soften
by flickering candlelight
and too much red wine.

With a simple touch,
you lit a fire inside me
which burns to this day.

People aren’t perfect –
we each have our personal
virtues and vices.

She bares her shoulder
so painfully slowly that
moments feel like days.