Sonnet 8

I suffer from a terminal disease,
They call it "life" (and say there is no cure.)
I fight-each day-without a moments peace;
Instructed that no thing is known for sure.

The worst part is that I am so aware!
And each moment has endless things to miss.
I make my plans but this world doesn't care;
It's serving to some other person's bliss.

But I can still find humor in it all
And laughter is the cure (for that which ails.)
The best of times are simple to recall.
I'll learn a whole lot, every time I fail.

        When I can be, I'm honest, kind, and fun.
        Too bad, it seems like I'm the only one.

Sonnet 7

Should your name sit on the tip of my tongue-
For all this time-while you're so far away,
Then everyone I meet (for years to come)
Will find you, hidden in each word I say.

My mind has made a shift, since you last came.
For better, or for worse... it's who I am.
This new man-that you made-remains the same;
My roots are buried deep beneath the sand.

But I could easily set myself free
(And swallow the sound of your name for good.)
I'd find somebody new-to torture me-
And leave an empty grave where I once stood.

        Excused from from fear (and lies,) I'll wait for you...
        As long as you're not scared to live with truth.

Sonnet 6

The seasons-like most things-hold thoughts of you.
The chaos they can bring may change my life.
When no one can perceive what you'll both do;
The tension tends to cut deep (like a knife.)

The dark days always come when you are gone;
So swiftly theres no sun, no neon lights.
If I can't calculate the coming dawn,
I still won't hesitate to see the sights.

But that wind blows much colder every year
(And when you turn your shoulder I get chilled.)
I cannot waste each season waiting here,
To find that I am freezing from the thrill.

        Your cool warmth ebbs and flows persistently,
        And you will always know the way to me.