EMPTINESS FILLS MY HOURS

Sunshine brings a sadness into my rarefied air.
Your presence, missing, brings to my world, despair.
Sunshine brings a bleak, darkness to my life.
Without you !, my hours are filled with strife.
Sunshine is what you are, what you brought to me.
The beauty of our days, I will no longer get to see.

Sunshine, no longer reflects from these tired old eyes
as I try to look heavenwards, but see no more blue skies.
In memory, my mind's eye, I look into your beautiful eyes
but all I can see, all I can feel, are your good byes.
I should know my Dear, it should come as no surprise !
Yet, it still breaks my heart and my soul, loudly, cries
for the loss of all I had with you, watch, as it dies,
knowing, in the world of death, that is how it lies !
It is the beautiful dream - it, is the bond that ties -
longing to touch you again, to see you with these eyes.

B. J. "A" 2
April 1st 2011

DARK ARE MY DAYS
STARK ARE MY WAYS

My thoughts become perforated with pin prick holes, exuding darkness.

Darkness sucking some of the light, the life from my memories,

from my experiences - in doing so they rob me of the last vestiges

of any hope that your light will continue to shine on me,

continue to provide nourishment's to this life,

give reason to get beyond this season.

I fear that you will extinguish the light forever more,

and I will wither away behind that darkened door,

become dust on the silent winds of your soundless voice,

particles of, carried away on the remnants of your lovely light,

as it travels light years from, and out of my sight.

In this, I am left empty and without any choice .

I have this great urge to plug those black holes,

hope that all will come back, ( that radiant, beautiful light ,

light that harbored my heart, my soul, my spirit

in it's loving embrace ) even if love was not a part of,

it's light, it's life's blood nor a part of it's essence.

The heart, the mind know, yet the heart, the mind can not control.

You are the artist, your soul the palette, your spirit the paint,

paint that coloured all the scenes lived upon me, me the canvas,

a canvas that displayed all the images created by your imagination

and my ability to bring to life, your creations.

I want to be the expediter of all your precious dreams,

dreams that would never include me, it seems.

I look into the mirrors, reflectors of our history, see you,

you the artist, finished with your master piece,

-that illusion of mind, the deluding of my heart -

time to move on and do what you will do.

For my heart, my soul, my spirit there is no peace,

and the realization, for me, there will be no new start.

What is left ?, are my tears, tear drops from the pain

of heart ache, of loss, tear drops trying to wash away

the images, the colors, the memories etched across this canvas.

Efforts in futility !, for all there is, are streaks, staining the face,

of your paintings, the surface of me, me the canvas,

a canvas, upon your wall, has no place ?

B. J. "A" 2

APRIL 2nd 2011

THE FACE OF DEATH

On Monday March 14th 2011, at 1:05 PM, I believe I was looking into the face and eyes of Death, as we drove to Her, school .

I think I heard the voice and sounds of Death, on Monday March 14th 2011 at 1:15 PM as She tried to direct me past the entrance to Her class.

I felt the hands of Death, touch me as She turned away, leaving me standing there, heart in hand, bleeding profusely, no response, as she turned Her, back and walked away, not looking back .

3:40 PM and as I sat in the Henderson Mall, heart broken, feeling the pangs of regret, the Grim Reaper, cut into my chest, as I watched Lady Death, walk towards me with a look that said " die ", " go to hell " but the words that came out of Lady Death's, mouth were " such a serious look ! " and Her, response to my gift of apology ( flowers and a poem ) and my offer to give Her, a ride home where met with a curt response " I have something else to do " and She, was gone like the lights had been turned out, and then the Grim Reaper, plunged his scythe deep into my heart, twisting his blade with such aggression I could hardly breath as my lungs tightened up, my throat closed, my heart would not beat and my soul cried out in vain .

For eleven days I sat in the silences, looking into the casket, at this old fool, who, by his own hands, was killed, killed by his stupidity and thoughtless words. The evening of the eleventh day of my wake, a sweet, voice, from my memory, sang out to my dead ears, but the tones where sugarless and the lyrics where that of a dirge ringing out a death blow, as Lady Death, responded to " will I get to see you sometime ?" with a " maybe " and then " I have to go, I have things to do " and then the coffin lid came crashing down on my state of reverie, the dream shattered like a mirror struck by a meteor, shards, splinters, fragments fused together in twisted, distorted images of what once was ?, is ?, my dream, a dream that was not, is not Hers, and like Alice in Wonder Land, slipping through the looking glass, reality was not as it seemed, for one's reality, on the other side, may not be the reality of another. The visions, the desires, the dreams, one's perception, all, are but splinters of the holographic universe we inhabit, but have no control of. FATE ?, KARMA ?, THE GRAND DESIGN ?, BLIND CHOICES ?

Now I spend every hour of every day hanging on to the edges of my funeral, the wake, my spirit attends faithfully and from these, my mind will not let me escape .

I wonder if I will be able to step out from behind the looking glass ?, awake from my beautiful dream ?, face reality ?, reality reflected in those exotic, dark brown mirrors, the windows to your soul .

My Lotus Blossom, my Oriental Dream, my China Doll, my Exquisite Vision of Loveliness, my Exotic Beauty, - she has left me with my own death mask to reflect upon as I look into the mirrors ( images of what I once experienced with Her, ) and see only ghostly figures ( She and me and all that we shared, all we experienced ) haunting all the moments that lie among the ashes of all the beautiful experiences we shared, experience I believe She, has placed upon a funeral pyre, set them on fire, no longer having a desire to even remember we once lived them, them that gave my life some purpose, gave me meaning, put a sparkle in these tired old eyes and a spring to the shuffle of this old mans step. For Her, ?????????????

THE FACE OF DEATH ---------- THE DEATH MASK

XIAO LING

You are a Beautiful Mystery, I would love to solve.

You are a Secretive Soul, I want to know, your secrets.

I want to unlock, unravel, open the doors.

I want to dance with your skeletons.

I want to lay with your ghosts.

I would love to be your facilitator,

the expediter of your precious dreams,

be able to make them all come true,

be your Dream !

B. J. "A" 2

MARCH 30th 2011