The lady of sorrow  does not possess a name. For the sake of this poem, I will call her: Lady Sorrow.   There's another time in another place, where she sat deep between the slopes of a ravine.    It was overcast,  and so was the spirit in her eyes. Where...

Dressed as black as lightless night,the stars exist only in your eyes.Penetrative, oval, emerald eyes which see right through me. Your dress, Victorian, with leather strapping which buckles around you. Signifying your social status. At your command, you gracefully slide a...

I think of youAnd can’t help thinking about usAn openingAn unfoldingThe falling of wallsAnd guardsThe laying aside of old fearsAnd old livesAs the new opens before meIn layersLike the petals of a roseWith the coming of the sunGlistening with...