The Needle

The needle bringing pain.
Yet art requires the pain of birth.
Devoting oneself to Her.
Accepting the pain as a sacrament.
A living memorial to Her.
Always there.
She moves at the edge of the mind.
Always there.
Like a mother ever watching.
Waiting to see Her again.

Heart Closed
Yet Touched
Will it open?
The Lady calls
Give yourself
Open heart
Touch others
Give freely
Giving heart
Gaining peace
Through sharing
Gaining love
Accepting love
in Her arms
Blessed Be

A love poem

Tenderness
Head on shoulder
A simple touch
A look across the table
Hand on hand
stroking their hair
Fondness

In Her Eyes

I sat down with my coffee
the cafe was nearly empty
but one sat there nearby
I looked
and saw the pain
there was something
in her eyes
that spoke of pain
worldly cares weighing
all spoken
in her eyes
the set of her lips were
almost as hard as stone
her hair was awry
had she slept?
she seemed so tired
shown through her eyes
she sat quietly
I sat and watched
her cup sat empty
mine sat full
was this like our lives?
her eyes
spoke of an emptiness
spoke of pain
spoke of a need
she looked up
I smiled
I could see the barest
hint of a smile
in her eyes