I had a lifetime of enough.
I know this to be true.
We had enough together,
with Shaya, me and the kids.
We worked together.
We played together.
We even had problems together.
We muddled through
in the very best way possible.
We built our life together
in every way.

That was my previous version of enough.
That was then.
In the here and now,
in this moment in time,
my version of enough
still relies on me
leaning on the ones I love
and who love me.

She sat on the curb, where shadows creep,
A warm evening held the world in sleep.
Clear skies above, a starlit scene,
Each distant spark, so bright and keen.

She wished for wings, an angel's grace,
To guide her soul from this dark place.
Her only love, now lost and gone,
A car's cruel fate, at break of dawn,
Right on that spot, the pain took hold,
A story tragically untold.

The sun, brilliant on the trail today,
throws shadows here and there.

Free from the tyranny of clouds,
the silhouettes cannot hide their delight.

My thoughts add an asterisk to their unrestrained dance.
A bookmark to revisit this performance, offered for free.

There is always a poem after this one;
the understudy to today's centre stage:

This poem however, is never unimportant,
it is as individual as the poem that follows;
many written poems have unwritten forbears-
each poem is breathed and lived; rarely spoken.

The panorama of this poem is found in one place –
the window of its reader's imagination;
so each poem is the beginning point
of new journeys that we join with the poet.

Anyone doubting that life follows death
Contemplate our rising star

That there is a plan in heaven
For the chaste and the desirous

Tell them i followed my beloved
From pleasure to pleasure

Until drowning in the sea of love

2
That we neither followed the laws
Of society only our hearts

Why otherwise we're we blessed
With the tastes for rich and bitter wines

A cup deep within us for euphoria
The most estranging of sufferings

Softly she whispers a vision too vivid,
Her hand is gently placed on my left cheek, as I kiss her luscious lips,
Her kiss is a sweet melody that hushes the loud noise in my head,
Her voice causes a lovely rush.

Her hair falls like silk, a scenic that must be captured with every blink,
As the music swirls, I'm making her toes curl, a real romantic delight.
The keys coming from the piano, compliment her sweet serenade moans,
When she takes off her clothes, her beauty is displayed.

Every line it tells a tale,
Sunny days that turn to grey.
From laughter to dismay.

And many crevices hide a truth,
Trauma bonds that won't let go,
Yet one may never know.

By how a smile may well disguise,
The map that they were sold,
On their road to getting old.

For such lines may well be wonky,
On their path that isn't straight,
Yet those scars define their fate.

We are wise not to meddle
with the words of yon Muse,
allowing them to touch us--

avowed by torchlit trysts;

each thought cradled in nettles'
elegiac vine rows muse
such fearsome elegance behold!

with a scheming, loving, and enticing guise
alive and well seeking gullible guys
(once upon a time just like me),
who experiences close encounters
of masterly baited entrapment
on Facebook Messenger
and most likely endemic
on other social media platforms.

Harkers young, lawyers eyes
fell to the last choking coffin.
Beads of
sweat had began to leak from his
forehead.

His fist held a shackled grip on a
wooden stake, his youthful heart
became more irritated. He slid
back the unslept, decrepit, coffin,
lined in velvet.
Which caused Harkers eyes
to stretch and his jaw to flip open.