Haunted

Every night I wake up dead

Murdered by the dreams

No matter how many times I die

The pain is always the same

In the morning

I gather the ashes and throw them in the river

And every night

Every river

Finds its way back to me

Dear Joseph

With the touch of your hand,
Flowing out of your finger tips,
You pour in life
Falling down like rain on a barren ground
And the hearts are laden with gardens
Flowers slowly raising their heads and waking up,
as I read

In the scent of your thoughts,
in your every word is a symphony
a melody,
music to the soul
And every atom of my being dances to it
I can’t hold my heart from leaping out
And coloring all the pages pink                
Like the petals of a rose

Your words,
Open window to a new world
A forgotten place, where I might have lived before
some lives ago
And every sight, everything,
 I recognize as if my own
As if, in your stories I was born,
As if,
I was never left alone,
As if,
you were never gone

When I read,
When I read aloud your words,
They leave their sweetness on the tip of my tongue
Sweeter than a thousand kisses
And I am surrounded with blooming flowers of the wild

In your words is my heart, is my heaven,
I open your book, to breathe
I put my hands on its pages for my heart to beat
Than how can I not read?
When all I am is nothing more than a breathing thought of yours
And if I don’t, make your book my Mecca
Who am I?
Perhaps all I’ll be is a paper, blank.

So, my dear
write for me,
write for them
write for yourself
write for us

Please don’t let your pen rest
In its ink, a life is thriving to be born
To be set free