Red Wine

In his burgundy hues do I sit,

And quietly contemplate,

The deepest thoughts in my shadowy mind,

Hidden in a dark unlabeled crate.

Under his swirling blood red,

I isolate my fears,

And they grow in the darkness of my mind,

Where there listen no other ears.

In his clutches I'll lose my head,

In his grip I'm naked, I'm not disguised,

He can see who I am, all my flaws,

A dangerous monster despised.

And no one will know what's happened,

'Cause I sit alone in my room,

Where the shadows await me in corners,

In the closets the elephants loom.

Only he can see me now,

Delicate, elegant, refined,

Only the blood red glass knows the secrets,

In which my ugliness is defined.

My Spring Poem

The time has come once again,

To forget the cold winter's bite,

The trees awaken from their silence,

To raise green buds to new sun's light.

Time to raise your song, you birds,

Till the seeds open bleary eyes,

And hear the sounds of babbling brooks,

Under pale blues in youthful skies.

The flowers stretch their stalks,

And the grass pokes through the earth,

The sparrow perches on a green spotted branch,

And the trees rejoice in their rebirth.

A lady bird flits through clean cool air,

And a doe pricks up her ears,

A mountain sighs in the sun new rays,

As the lake's fresh water clears.

Nothing compares to the first spring day,

When the sun shakes off its cold suit,

And the blankets have melted away from the earth,

Giving way to the first tulip shoot.