love hung in her closet

Love is a dress
But it’s the woman inside
Who fills it out
And makes love my reality
Within her arms

The Lonely Author



love hung in her closet


Love hung in her closet
like a lonely dress
no longer in style
If I told her
that dress was made for her
would she wear it
one more time
She looks beautiful in love
She wears it well
One day I may tell her
Perhaps, I never will
If I don’t
it will always hurt
to know
Love hung in her closet
it was never worn
for me

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America’s Shame

The bombs may
no longer burst above in the air
nor bullets wiz
past their head bounce off their helmet
their buddies die

Yet within the
silence of civilian life upon returning
to home sweet home
their minds often are still reeling from
the hammer blows

The war may
have ended in well fought victory
yet all too often
their lives are still spinning out
of their control

Nor are they
to blame for they were but the tool
used by politicians
who sent someone else’s child to
fight their wars

While the names
of our honored dead are enshrined
upon a wall
the walking wounded among us
to our shame

Are still ignored
quite unseen and unheard by those
of us who
were fortunate not to be there
in harms way

Yes indeed the
way we glorify war in movies
and in books
yet fail to provide for our veterans
is an utter shame

Underneath the Stars

As she gazed
Into his eyes her fate she could
Not escape

Lured into his
Arms by the sound of his voice
She relented

His kiss her lips
Returned as she fell beneath his
Hypnotic spell

As she sighed
And moaned within his embrace
Her soul arose

Caressed his
Tongue – made him immortal in
The moonlight