by R.W. Dean
An act of kindness,
Or a well intended word,
Received while a soul
Is bare and vulnerable,
Sometimes leaves the deepest scars.
Love, gently expressed,
Asking nothing in return,
Can be a burden
On a heart, already full,
And is sometimes left to die.
by R.W. Dean
Like barley sugar,
All shaped likes horses and dogs,
Sparkling in the lights
Of Christmas candles, the way
Your eyes are sparkling, thrills me.
When I was a child,
I found joy in little things;
Butterflies flashing
Like little flags in the wind,
And the colors in raindrops,
The sound of a brook,
Trying to push moss from rocks,
Huffing and puffing,
Rolling over with laughter
When the moss would not let go.
These are the moments
That flood back into my mind
When I see your smile,
And know that barley sugar
Is not as sweet as your love.
by R.W. Dean
Night sounds,
Like the scratching
Of the wee, little mouse
Behind the wall, keep loneliness
At bay.
by R.W. Dean
She came quietly,
Like warmth in the afternoon
Of a winter day,
And in my soul, flowers bloomed
Through the snows of loneliness.
She came quietly,
Like a star, rising above
The wall around me,
And the wall fell from my view,
To leave only the heavens.
She came quietly,
Like a flower opening
To morning’s first light,
And the dawn of a new life
Pushed darkness away from me.
In my solitude,
I prayed for someone to love.
She came quietly,
And, for the first time, I heard
The music of the Angels.