Mostly Poetry

There is an unwritten story
Of what can’t be described
Which paper won’t hold
And words can’t contain

An unwritten story
Of love and sacrifice
Of pain and healing
Of truth and openness

There is an unwritten story
Of passion and freedom
Where wild flowers grow
And beauty runs free

There is a story to be known
Only in hidden places
Where the water is a perfect mirror
Of the beauty resting on the shore

There is a story to be lived
With liberation and release
Where love alone can dictate
What has yet to be written

~wbv

Given wings
But cannot fly
Given legs
But cannot walk
Given hands
But cannot grasp
Given words
But cannot speak
Given eyes
But cannot see
Given life
But cannot live
Given love
But cannot cherish
Given wings
But cannot fly

~wbv

What is not said daily
Is still felt deeply
Hour by hour
Minute by minute
What the eyes hide
The heart reveals

In the words not spoken
In the long silence
In one breath
This love is implied

In almost every action
In almost every moment
In almost every word
In almost every song

What is not spoken openly
Is still felt sincerely
Hour by hour
Minute by minute
What the outer hides
The inner longs to let free

And so in subtle ways
Love will seek freedom
Until it is, one day, truly free

~wbv

If ever there were
A word to cling to
A last “something”
To offer peace
Assurance
Gentle reminders
And gracious presence
It is that last word
Before the comma
Before the end

Because after the comma
It is too late
To say what needs to be said
As the most important part of the story
May then come across
As an afterthought

Sincerely,
With All My Heart,
Forever Yours,
Thank You,
Peace,
Your Friend,
Yours Truly,
Love,

Me.

~wbv

Peering through
Seeing perfectly the dream
Kept just out of reach
By this twelve inches of glass

Though kicking and screaming
And throwing rocks
There is little hope of breaking through
If only to touch hope, just once

Crystal clear
The watching heart awakens
To see the light shining through
This twelve inches of glass

Looking as if in a mirror
Knowing intimately by sight
But failing to experience
Because of this impossible window

~wbv

When we have said everything
That can possibly be said
And there are no more secrets
Or unspoken feelings
And every last piece
Is laid out before us
Sigh with me

When we have done everything
That can possibly be done
And there is no more tension
Cast from incomplete longings
And we look up quietly
Complete, happy
Sigh with me

When we have loved more deeply
Than we ever thought we would
And nothing is left to say or do
But to seek tranquil waters
Twin pools, rising suns,
And the peaceful embrace of fate
Sigh with me

~wbv

I see freedom
Liberated life

Looking through
Tradition
Ignorance
Resistance to change

Peering past
Jealousy
Selfishness
Insecurity

Reaching beyond
Social boundaries
Accepted restrictions
Religious dogma

And I wonder
Whether I’m looking through
The window into your prison
Or just seeing outside
The bars of my own

~wbv

If there were love without typos
What fun would that be?
Especially Freudian typos
Would be sorely missed
By those who read them
And those who type them
And those for which the
Lost intention is discovered
If there were love without typos
There would be little hope for
Those of us who love better
With the written word
Than with the spoken
Because even the most
Perfectly written love
Must stumble constantly
On the road to perfection
(How much more so the poorly
written love)

~wbv