Essence of Home

What I have found in you
When I bathe deep in your eyes
Are songs it seems I knew
And stars from other skies

You and I must be
Descendants of the same
Children of the sun
Yet, born of different names

We touch our mother earth
With toes of tortured skin
We breathe our father sky
Who’s living deep within

I feel you brush your fingertips
Across my soul, sublime
With the essence of our people
Separated over time

The present is part of our past and our lives transcend visual reality. ~ Sidney “TK” Yee

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You Spoke My Name

You spoke my name,
I heard the hum,
Of a love
Still yet to come.

I saw your eyes,
I knew it true,
That it was I,
God meant for you.

Hold me still,
I'll lead the way,
And show you how,
To love today.

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Hold Me Tight

Hold me tightly in your arms,
And teach me how to trust.
Hold me tighter when I struggle,
And squeeze me if you must!

Don't let me fight against you,
Don't let me pull away.
Where I want to be is with you,
Please just make me stay!

The fight lives deep inside me,
The struggle is not with you.
It's the anger that she filled me with,
And the Child I once knew.

My Child needs you to hold her,
And teach her that you care.
My Child loves the Child in you,
Our Children are a pair.

Let that fear and venom leave me,
Set the fight from my heart free!
Let me find when this is over,
That you're still holding me.

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Motorcycle Ride

The wheels roll underneath me,
Engine rumbles, landscape flies,
The road opens out before us,
Clouds dot gray winter skies.

Wind roars through my helmet,
Deafening all sound outside my head.
I hear my soul singing through,
Past tears I once had shed.

Feel the hurt of old wounds,
Then the rush of your body, hard,
Pressed up against my open soul,
Soothing all which had been scarred.

In chaos I hear nothing,
But the whispers of last night,
Your heavy breath of lustful passion,
Sends my heart in blissful flight.

I squeeze you ever tighter,
You pull the throttle closer still,
My life abandoned to you,
My essence at your will.

The rush of air envelopes me,
And washes out my sighs,
From memories of love we made,
Still wet between my thighs.

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Another Nightmare

I dreamed of my mother last night. She had me in her grasp, and the look on her face was so sinister. Filled with terror, I was limp, unable to move or fight, as she held 5 long hat pins against my left cheek, ready to plunge them into me.

"I love the way this feels," she spewed, with a chilling smile.

I knew what she meant. The authority, the control, the ability to cause harm satisfied her need to be powerful.

Somehow, my arms came back to life again. I knocked all of the pins from her hands but one. I took the remaining pin from her, and shoved it into her face, to protect myself. I wanted to get her off of me, to run, to get away. As I pulled it from her, her smile widened.

"You're just like me. You enjoyed that. You're filled with my venom."

To be like her is my greatest fear. I want something so different for my life, yet cannot find a way to be rid of the fear, the hate, and the anger. When crossed, I become hateful and obsessively plot revenge. It eats away at me. When I don't follow through with the acts my conscience is eased over time, but holding my anger back is painful. If I follow through, I hate myself instead.

I want to be free.

As I stood before her, with her blood on my hands, I became sick inside. Waking, I sat up in bed, feeling the vomit rising in my throat, and began to cry.

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Runaway Train

My strength is a misguided freight train, barreling along the wrong tracks. This undeniable strength, admired by so many, has the potential to steer me off course, and when fueled by anger, the train runs away.

In the tunnel I can't see the tracks. I can't see anything. I hear the steel wheels screech along the rails, grinding, twisting, burning metal, straining to remain on the path. My destination is blocked from view in the dark, black, brick tunnel. Yet, I shovel angry coals into the bowels of the beast with the steam pouring from my chimney. Sparks fly, from the wheels, from the shovel, from you and me, as the friction eats away at us.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

The angry coals pour out of the coffers of the coal car. I look deep inside the car to see the seemingly endless source of the coal, as it pours out of the top and spills along the tracks behind my runaway train. Below the coal car is a pipeline from the long row of freight cars behind. Fourty-six cars, one for each year of my life, all filled with fear. Each car pumps the fear into the coal car, and magically, the fear becomes anger. Black, angry coals to fuel my passion, and fuel my destruction.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

My place is in the engine, furiously shoveling angry coals into the inferno that powers my runaway train. All of that strength with which I'm so endowed steers me along on a course of sure destruction.

I want to find the brake. I want to find the release. I want to stop the train.

No lever. No brake. No release. No choice. I leap for relief.

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I Hope You Know

I hope you know I love you,
And I want you to stay,
That I am only human,
And I had lost my way.
You truly are my happiness,
You are the reason I pray!

I wish that I were stonger,
Sometimes I am so weak.
But peace with myself,
Is truly all that I seek.
I know that life without you,
Today would be bleak.

I hope you know that I love you. . .
I hope you know. . .
I hope you know.

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