And within the light of truth,
the vision grows less clear.
The memory of your youth,
looking in the mirror.

No more the young, sweet blade,
naive, and honest heart.
Blues, in rockin' suede,
young love, the dreaming starts.

A heart that's healed, but scared,
tender to the touch.
Please handle it with care,
it still aches so much.

I'll let you hold it for a while
just be careful, not to break it.
I think you're just my style,
I think that we can make it.

When I look in the mirror
I wonder what happened to me
What happened to that young girl
who used to look back at me
with that smoothly lined face
now invaded by many a wrinkle
and pretty blue eyes
minus their twinkle
skin so tight, soft and rosy
now weathered and loose
dotted with irregular splotches of brown
my smile transposed to an upside down frown
Where my pearly whites used to be
brand new dentures are what I see
Wild dark hairs have sprouted on my chin

The rain sounds deafening.
I turn on a couple lights
to hide from the darkness.

There is distress in the sky.

My heating bill is threatening,
but Spring is almost here,
and rising with it, Easter.

We hope for resurrection,
to be forgiven, but yet, perhaps
our fate cowers in the darkness,

facing these cold winters,
where the sky weeps and
trembles in its desolation.

Bombs fell in Iran today,
a savage sort of rain.
Young girls at school

High above the quiet valleys,
where the Salmon River winds like a silver thread,
Mt. Borah rises-
a stern old sentinel of the Lost River Range,
carved by wind, chiseled by winter,
crowned in a loneliness that feels regal.

Its ridgelines hold memories of glaciers,
its slopes remember the trembling earth of '83,
yet it stands, unmoved in spirit,
unyielding to time and circumstance.

An evil face disguised as love
Soft cooing as a turtle dove.
Then pity men whose weakness lies
In beauty young, a forbidden prize.

She takes his hand, smiles soft, so coy,
Make him feel as a teenage boy,
Demure wide eyes promise such delight
As she leads him through the dance of night.

So much is promised but given, nought,
Takes all she can, his soul is wrought,
Bleeds him dry, with visions of bliss
So torn with lust for the witch’s kiss.