Not a poem. I hurt; like a Frankenstein monster. Iron fist. Unrelenting.

Not so long ago I was convinced you were the culprit, the masked robber of my sacred trust.

I was addressed today in the secret silent language that everyone knows; except for me. It was assumed I’d know exactly

I met a man who told me that he’s looking for the way he might become more free, less encumbered in his life. Poor me, poor me, poor me;

He’s been around the block and even toured the world, with scars upon scars to show from many a hard-fought battle. Yet like many old dogs

I was seven years old. I approached the priest in earnest… “I want to take the lord Jesus in… He instructed me to kneel and pray… A week passed.

Beloved goddess, sweet holy mother of us all, you who beckon me throughout these hectic days

How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,

God has spoken. I have been listening, the message is clear. The psalm itself is silent, if the psalmist’s voice falls stil…

I am your greatest grandmother calling softly on the ocean winds. I was never lost to you forever, only swallowed by the other half o… Come down with me to the quiet pla…