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Poems For the Missing

My name is David Culver...
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In memory of Shannon Nicole Paulk...
-may you always fly.

 This site is dedicated in the memory,
of Shannon Nicole Paulk...
-Please also pan down to Jessica Lunsford.  Another child who suffered needlessly.
animated gifs  ORLEANS, the music instrumental CD I recorded this past spring, is finally an MP3 file.  I will write much, about this recording very soon, concerning why I recorded it, and all about the people, and children, for which this recording was made.  ORLEANS, is ten minutes in length, yet only about five and a half minutes are heard here.  Why??  Well, I am seeing what I can do about that now, but I truely hope you will enjoy and appreciate for just now, this first five minutes of... ORLEANS
  -In August of 2001, Shannon walked from her home, and never returned.  There is a person out there, who decieved her into thinking something, that was not true.  Someone, simply lied to her.  Shannon, was 11 years old, and innocent to a world of darkness, that surrounded her.  But how could she have known of such things- such things, as hate, or violence?  Her innocence was real, and will always be.  Her brief life, and untimely fate, has marked a certain perspective, or flame if you may, inside of me, that I will continue, and struggle, to preserve for the rest of my life.  Shannon, this is my promise to you.  And, that I'll not let you be forgotten... ever.  From time to time, I will visit you.  And somewhere, inside of every poem I write from my heart, you will always have your place in them... you will always... have a voice.  May you always fly.

-Through the course of time, the memories, the investigative efforts, the hope for other children, the prayers, and tears, which are endless, have not died.  Just recently two other cases have been linked possibly, to Shannon's case.  There is one obvious relation, that was not brought to light however.  And that is, the road, that links Heaven Ross's location, and Shannon Paulk's location, is Hwy 82, that stretches between the two cities.  I have often prayed for Heaven's family, that in some way or another, they might feel some sort of comfort, somewhere... somehow.  Heaven's bedroom, is still there, neat, and kept, for her safe return.  She has never been found, since her vanishing in 2003.  But a family's hope, a mother's hope, is so very often, the very strength that holds a family together, to stand through a storm, as this.  My prayers and thoughts are still with you. 

-They are also linking to Shannon's case, another, from Macon, Georgia.  The name of this 11 year old girl, is Teresa Melissa Dean, who also as well, was last seen inside a trailor park, where she lived.  1999, was the year for this family to remember for the rest of their lives.  I pray, that these three families, will remain together, and united, as their children would of course, want them to.  A young little girl's entire world, is her very own family, and the family MUST stay together, MUST love one another, and support one another always.  With more work, more hours, more money... more hope, and certainly, with out a doubt, MORE truth, the person, who committed these acts... the one person, who took the lives of these young girls away from them, and their families, will stand justice for what he did.  These young children, and their innocence, their happiness, their youth, and all that which they are, apart, from this dark world, MUST prove to somebody out there, that there IS a heaven- a spiritual exsistance beyond our own lives.  There HAS to be.  I hope so very sincerely, and so very much, that these families are very aware of this FACT each and everyday of their lives now.  God, does NOT abduct children... "people" do.  Children show us, that there IS another side, to darkness... the difference is much too great.  As there is a day, for every night, there too, MUST be a place opposite of this.  Please join with me, in prayers often for these particular families, but also, for all missing, and suffering children in this world.  Thankyou so very much for viewing, AND for your prayers for these families, and children.  -David Culver.

-If you are interrested in adopting a missing child, a program that allows you to obtain information about the child, pictures of that child, and buttons, that you can wear everyday, that bares the face of that particular child, whether be, for the memory of that child, or the search for that child, please write to the following address below, to recieve more information.  This is of course free to the public.  Or... you may email, to:

-Project Jason
Adopt a Missing Person Program
PO Box 3035
Omaha, NE 68103

Teresa Melissa Dean-Teresa Melissa Dean, from Macon, Georgia who vanished in 1999.
Heaven LaShae Ross

-Heaven LaShae Ross, from North Port, Alabama who vanished in the summer of 2003.

I sincerely pray, that through time, we may come closer to understanding these types of crimes more, so that we can prevent these things from happening in our lives.  But, we must do this, in ways, we do not become teachers of mistrust, rejection, or hate to the children, we parent.  An understanding of WHY these things happen, must be found, in order to openly, find solutions to the problem.  Unfortunately, this type of circumstance is never mentioned openly, or talked about with the public that often, to aquire new methods of approach.  It is however, kept far too quiet from the public, where those of us who may obtain answers to some of the questions, could possibly have a desire to help, whether be to assist police, or merely to help the loved ones of these children, who are left behind to cope, and survive the pain.  Yet, there are those, whose voices are muffled- voices, that are silenced.  And they are never allowed to stand, and speak out.  And some cases, turn into cold cases, left unfinished, with questions, never to find answers.  Should not poeple learn how to subject themselves to a certain degree of humility, in order to find the truth in something so important?  I think so. 
-David T. Culver
-This is a sketch drawing, of the man, who is believed to have had last contact with Shannon Paulk, before her vanishing.  The photo may not come up, so here is a URL to that picture.  Please view. Very heavy set, with mole under right eye, dark complected, lots of hair on his arms, about 6' tall.  Could be a construction worker.  This person could have munipulated his appearance, in the past five years.  IF he is connected with these other missing children, this means, he is a serial abductor.  And, with that being said, rest assure... he will make a mistake, at some point.  I hope sincerely though, not one more child will suffer, to his (not) understanding, what he is doing, because of his own imagination.  PLEASE join with me, in prayers for Shannon's family, her mother has lived this day many times.  Marie, you are so much stronger a person inside, than I could ever be.  A person, can imagine something as this, but never really know, unless they too, have lived through this kind of loss.  God bless you and your family always.  I still pray for your comfort.  My email adr is
Please view, if you have suffered from losing your child...
-After viewing URLs, then click back to return to web site.
-a new poem, that I have written for Shannon, where in this poem, if speaking to Shannon, I suppose I would indeed ask, IF she is free, from all the ties the earth can bind one with.  And free... from those whose hearts were NOT true in their words, or respects.  So many fears and uncertainties inside a person, specially a child, which many people wonder, could possibly hold a persons' spirit from escaping this world.  A limbo of sort, where I firmly believe, bares no fault of a child.  I believe God releases his own children from any grips of fear, or violence prior to death.  My faith, my belief, is that God, took Shannon, before that mental darkness befell her.  That she would not experience, perhaps, all that she could have.  I believe that God can do this, and why not?  God, is truely God, and Father to ALL his children.  And to implement a comfort into a childs' mind or senses, would indeed, be a Godly thing... to be done.  See... IF there is truely a Spiritual world beyond this one... we MUST believe that things such as this, are possible, and they happen around us, when we do not know it.  That later, we would know so many things, that now... we can not even begin to concieve.  My thoughts and prayers are continually with Marie, and her family.  I feel very sure, you will see your daughter again... someday.  -Sincerely; David. 
-Are you free? 
Or are you trapped with those
whose vengence, is not of God?
Who even some, were bound by jealousy,
with eyes that fixed you in formulated phrase-
words expressing the tenderness of age,
while murmuring prayers of which...
were not meant for thee.
From the closed door- the cold heart...         
are you free? 
Are you bound? 
Restrained by laws of earth and mind-
meanings upon meanings, with no reason found?
For what plagued the minds of so many, do still...
one face, that bares no soul to feel. 
And through all uncertainties,
their hearts were sealed.
For through doubt and fear, no life is sound. 
Nights are stirred in unrest, their unholy vows,
to seek out with vengence, while yet somehow,
forget the leaves, that fall so clear,
that in unseen ways... you made come down.
Grief, too sad for song or word,
so touches the few left, and I've heard,
chatters amongst the paper stars,
who hold their titles high to see,
and wrote you, to a world of hypocrisy.
I come here alone, to stand with thee. 
From where I am... there you are. 
Oh, bright red rose, tell me silently...
 are you free?
To Voice, the Butterfly
 "Far and away, in the distance of a field,
she runs, she plays, in all my tomorrows."
In the loving memory of Shannon Nicole Paulk.
-I will always remember you. 
-Autumn winds move the dry dust,
as spirits move the leaves about.
The wind moves all things in circles,
but only those things which touch me,
I know are you.
The stones, though they carry no voice to hear,
tremble in dark shadows of mourning.
And as eyes of yours, through my eyes peer,
looking out beyond my human fears,
there's a peace overwhelming inside the flame,
that walks us from darkness,
or afflicted shame, for those of us,
who keep our voice.
How could one imagine such a simple thing;
we all let lose of life beyond our wing,
where just beyond our touch and feel,
becomes a silence that often steals,
away their voices, in the rain.
For a mother in her grief, in quiet ruins of your soul,
let n'er her window be closed inside you.
Of all your memories, to these be drawn,
that from this life, one child, one heart goes on.
And if you've come to see her rose is gone,
she, will come to stand beside you.
As you pause, and turn, in your times alone,
when softly, first starlights of twilight come,
be attentive to movements, of days' last light-
may you notice the butterfly, while in her flight,
it's wings, shall lift her, from her plight-
such small replies, we rely upon.
For her breath, is in the wind, and is carried on.
No candle left burning, should lose her flame,
on the day, the heart of a world was broken.
From a distance, I could feel the hurt, and pain,
in search of rainbows, inside the rain...
I vowed, I'd not let her be forgotten.
Far and away, in the distance of a field,
she runs, she plays, in all my tomorrows.
Here, grief, may find some way to heal,
though, unless spring returns one daffodil,
autumn, may never move my sorrow.
For 'twas grief, that rekindled a hidden fire-
prayers locked away, from long ago.
Now, 'tis love in my heart, that takes me there...
to stand alone... to mourn.
May you always fly... always, and forever...
we are never, really alone.

Short Verse... Shannon
-Last night, near her name, inscribed in stone,
I heard faint whispers of roses there.
And if carefully, you listen, the winds will moan,
the voice of a child somewhere.
Summers will always come sooner now,
and red roses will bloom, in the heart of a poet.
Yet, so short are their lives, I feel somehow,
that roses are eternal... and angels hold them.
Short Verse... Shannon
-A childlike voice cries in a summers' wind.
Hers, is the soft whisper of the trees-
fluttering of butterflies, on an evening breeze.
Small yellow wings fold, as if only to me,
and like breath, it calmed all things to quietness-
twilight, into silence.
...her heart, at peace.
Somewhere, tonight...
-O fire, within that shines,
with so intense a flame, and bright,
that in some deep place where senses turn,
which through this life, obscured,
derrives less light,
wherever a lost child may be tonight,
I let one candle burn.
~In the memory of Shannon Nicole Paulk...
May you always fly. We will always love you.
-I've gone to gather my dreams
from the gold of the fields-
out of the far 'way trees-
out from the meadows around me.
Dreams, like those of raindrop souls,
or wings of birds, broken
upon the earth.
Thoughts, which evening rains bring,
create holes through my perception
of innocence.
Her small face, turns gray of pain,
yet so angelic in her remembrance.
Tare the vale of dust away,
that harbors the butterfly,
keeps the soul,
for soon, she will fly far one day,
released from the vices
which darkness holds.
And the ghost of this child,
shall not turn inward and old, yet,
voice her song amidst the gathering
of lambs on a hillside.
But all things which sing inside me,
cry- laughter fades, tears, repetitive,
and no music will fill her empty room again.
Though, I've heard in the dark,
a voice of a child, that takes me deep
to contentment, and snuffs out the fire.
The touch of autumn winds-
a distant clash of thunder...
every now and then, somewhere
in my heart, her restless spirit
takes pleasure, and shapes herself
into quiet, calm measures...
and 'tis worth the waiting, of the year.
-Published in "Symphonies" an Anthology
of World Poetry (Allahabad, India- 2004)
-this is for you Shannon...

-The falling of leaves in autumn,
are the whispers and sighs of those
who stood around you,
healing the wounds they suffered,
when against the gray dark wilderness,
they found you
with rosey wreaths, propted
in the sandy dirt.
It made us aware of a season dying.
That night, sounded the breaking
of hearts inside us.
Now, when this season comes,
it hides us in all the silence
a world could give, to heal the hurt.
But, a hurt that never went away,
yet, stays in small rooms of our hearts,
and somehow, still finds you...
drifting alone in our conscience.
Shannon's Vigil
-we came, with candles lit in night,
with open arms, and hearts inflamed.
we walked into darkness giving light,
that God would keep you in his sight,
and lead you home again... we prayed.
We prayed, in all the silence felt-
in summer's night air that touched my face,
I watched as even strangers knelt,
with welted eyes, they took their place,
and cupped their candles, out of wind.
Remembering Shannon
you will always be loved...
you will always be missed.
Her gentle soul, aflamed in song,
drifts amidst silent shadows of her time
flys without age, without sorrow
along the dee p trails of her life,
between that world, and mine.
Death, whispers our times to part,
and as softly autumn breezes rise above,
my wish, was only to feel her heart,
or once, to have touched the frailties of love.
Like sorrow, the rain fills the tin cup and tiller.
And though sleep brings all such things to dreams,
she, turns wine, and my troubled world is belittled.
For like rainbows inside rain... her spirit sings.
Her short life, was such a precious thing.
In those green fields, alone I've dwelt
unseen, unoticed, by some gift of grace,
a faith reserved, from all once felt.
Roses rest always, where I have knelt...
rekindling the features, of her vanished face.
"I hope your life is full, of wonderful things... and love."
-Published in "New Pegasus," an anthology of world poetry.

-her eyes look through a window,
foiled by age, by the gift of loneliness.
seldom, her smile could feel another.
encaged, with a heart by darkness smothered
into itself- into her eyes- no dream lies in wait,
but of late, her cries draw images of loss-
pictures absorbed of a small child's fate,
and live in the walls of this place.
from room to room an aimless drift,
of conscience, this house bares it's own-
the voice of a girl I dare resist,
and she waits in the dark alone.
perhaps the sun will rise up to me
lending rest to her spirit, and
divided worlds
may one day unite, to set her free,
removing the dust from her buried bones,
and release her from earth's lost fantasy.
-In only our calm retreat, we find you.
If in prayer, or thought, in uncertain sounds,
we hear you.
They flow like rivers inside us, and somehow,
take us, to meet you, where you are.
You are with us forever... Holly.

-In the memory of Holly Jones... in Toronto, Ontario...
go with the angels, Holly.  You will always be loved...
you will always, be remembered.
Rose in Winter
-now, for when once you smiled, I cry,
and tears roll down like rivers wide. 
I crench to think of a wilted rose,
I scream, though no one hears inside. 
what God hands down, we never know-
swolen red cheeks in from, the snow,
tells of white caverns and buffalo,
and to think, dear child...
how on earth would you know? 
what place in your heart, would you go to hide... 
and I wonder... where does,
the red rose of winter grow?
M i s s i n g
-Early in every morn', when suns light
the rooms of this house,
you are here-
here, inside pictures on the wall-
here in the silence of memories.
Your movements are felt inside us,
and we reach out to find you
against gray walls, undivided,
sensing your smile all around us,
when thinking your name.
There are those who walk with you,
as angels in the dark...
angels will find you, by your whisper.
And always with you, they watch over you.
And sometimes in the early light of morn',
they gather to the shore of every ocean,
looking out to the tall white waves,
that come in their calling, and together,
chant prayers for the missing,
that may you find a sense of comfort there.
You are lost, but not far from the single
quiet whisper of hope, nor from the eyes
of angels, and hearts of those, who still come
to the silent waves, in wait of light's flicker...
watching from the shore.
You, are not alone.

-PLEASE READ:  This is a prayer request for a little nine year old girl.  Her name is Jessica Lunsford, and she has been missing from her home in Florida for over a week now.  I have watched the videos of her Father begging the abductor to return his daughter to him unharmed.  Once again, one more child is gone from the public's midst.  Please... PLEASE just say a prayer for this little girl, that she will find a comfort from here somewhere, that a miracle might happen, that she could actually come home.  Please view this URL below.  Jessica, is such a precious little girl.  They all are.  Even yours.  So PLEASE stop right now, and say a prayer for her, and her family.

-David Culver

-I stood alone, lost in the grassy fields,
stepping from one to one I went.
And took in, all that I could feel,
in recalling the time I'd spent.
I remembered the days, so long left still,
when last I'd come to the winding brook,
whose water flows there, and always will,
in taking my second look.
So sweet my spirit flows here still,
and closely, blue skies close in, around.
And weeping willows in twilight sing,
of coming back, to the dances
of summer dreams, but autumn starts,
and dies the vented summer breeze,
we felt so much a part...
but never will fade, the memories,
and never, the severed hearts.
In the Absence of Sound
-yellow weeping flower bent... weighed down by teardrop, sent
far by wind, or God, or friend, but now to sleep, I dread the morn'.
noises hushed inside me- hope drifts across this empty room,
small slithers of light so faint to see... oh God, please come, set me free-
and take me from this tomb.
there is something, in the absence of sound, whispers can not ignore-
lifeless, in only appearance, darkness can be felt on skin and mouth,
in early hours of morn'.
patches of standing water reflect scattering of tall trees outside.
I dread the sunlight- I fear this room. let not all this, become my fate.
let them find me, where I hide. my only strength, my family's love-
their whispers sooth my weakened heart, in the shadows, where I wait.
If I Could Draw the Heavens
If I could draw the heavens, or the breathless view of night--
if in those thousand white faces, one returned a glare of light,
if only faintly I could see, I would not feel this much alone
in having lived my life so aimlessly, and mend my shattered
soul for thee, I might.
If in a silver crescent moon, with song upon my lips, a tune
could come, and ease the pain of a world, if some, I'd lay my
banners down and cry, and give back a child her home, I'd try.
Oh if, her harbored pain was mine, then close my eyes, I would--
and die.
If in all the breaths that fear must take, is left a will we come to make--
an inner rope, we often use as faith, then if you fall,
you've fallen free.
And you've shunned the shadow, and pulled the stake!
There is difference between fate, and destiny.
And if this small child becomes my pearl, if but one seed inside her world
I plant, would have my father's eyes glance back, and see,
would in turn, he do the same for me?  I'd throw all my arrows into
the wind, close my swollen eyes and then, be this world, my home --
my friend.
And I'd remember my life __ quite differently.
-a poem for missing Erica Baker, Kettering Ohio.
Erica, we all pray for your safety, and that someday...
(In her Father's thoughts.)
~no shadow shall fill this space, nor word convince me of dream's presence. 
from this room- doorway of ending, walks in circles, a thousand ghost in darkness, mumbling words of no meaning. 
you are not here... or were you ever?  confused in the loss, do I push away exsistance... and make believe, into other lives, those who were never blessed with you? 
crazy, in the missing... mind and heart broken, all my tomorrows, colored with the question why...
sustained in life, by only the belief, you are out there... somewhere.
Long Is a Road
-Long is a road that leads us home. 
Through darkened nights, the fearless winds
of the desert cry, calling us to one point and another. 
To think we remember, we wonder why,
such sounds are as no other. 
Memories of where brown leaves fall,
pillow our dreams- sustains the heart,
that if might we find some small step back,
we may also find... where our journeys start.
Thoughts of Rings
-Winds of the earth, return this child's vision-
out from her far, lost horizons, and fading suns,
from destiny's last steps to freedom,
and in with rains,  falling down there on. 
I watched her, when running the long green meadows-
fields and valleys in her land of home.
And now, but in dreams I find her,
in my quietness, and solitude, of home.
If my love could travel through thousand's of miles,
if in one touch away, to have felt her flame,
deep within caverns of my fading soul...
I am old, yet in spirit, I loved her name.
-white doves may pass
in the deep of night
when out from sleep
your tears supressed
slowly they pass through
moon's soft light
touching conscienceness
then out of sight
but leaving sweet tones
from out their breast
a memorance of one
dream's last delight
to soften the hurt
that makes you weep
and for a moment to lift you
from in your sleep
to reveal the journey
we all come to
there is an angel
deep inside of you.
Upon visiting the grave,
of Shannon Paulk, August 16th, 2003.
-nor the rose will I forget,
nor summer rain that fell,
nor blue skies which came
from the west,
in my solitary moment
with you little one.
I will cherrish the distant
sound of your voice,
which comes from a past
I have kept inside so long...
so long... can you remember?
can you hear the autumn wind?
though you are gone,
I will never release
your light, from
within my heart,
sweet angel.
After the Vanishing
-this poem is dedicated to Amber Hangerman...
"The Amber Alert."  Please view:

-From the distance,
looks back the heart of you-
remembering, retouching the cell-
creating each day passed. 
So long, and far away,
we felt the roses of summer growing. 
All rekindles, after the storm-
a generation of spirit.  
After the vanishing, I returned here,
to search- to find the one true color of life,
that remained behind. 
I seemed to have lost myself,
in the regathering of dust-
lost, in the ways you showed me,
to feel- to trust, and never again,
shall I know, such airs of innocence
I found in your heart.  
I know now, why leaves fall gold in Autumn,
and why the rains come without warning. 
I keep this- I retain the twilight within me,
that holds each moment passed, like a diary,
filled with all the wonderful things... 
you taught me to see.

Somebody's Child
In long evenings, next to shimmering glasses, 
I watch the pavement of the street hum, 
and shine in the street light, in moonlight. 
I go there, to where you are - in small wooden 
dark caverns - 
cold to the night, and so lost in your hope. 
I wish for you, and your hope is mine. 
The burden is mine, and I will take the pain, 
and feel, where you are. 
When senses pull me far from here - 
far away from the colored ambers of firelight- 
tears glimmering on my skin, I will look to you, 
and you look back. 
Your hope is not gone.  You are in wanting, 
wandering the long and dark shore, 
to some far light ahead. 
You are not bewildered inside, but reserving 
the strength you hold - the faith, you knew, 
when you were merely a child. 
And you still are, somewhere. 

-today is the day of poets
reflection of a face once stolen by time
a trace of love never touched by hands
taken in the heart lost in mind
wonders of children who wished me there
Curiosities in letters a locket of hair
their breaking of family in a world unfair
wantings of my own tucked away inside
not lost but faded safely kept somewhere
sweet memories of these long and far away
(for Kayla, 12 yrs old.)
~In the night, the cool and soothing airs
sweep this room. 
I dream of morning birds singing-
yellow fields beneath gold suns bringing,
trails that lead me back to you.
Twilight, will not return you here,
but songs that come from inside me,
softly, bring back the moon. 
It's glow upon my window, lifts the veil
of missing from within, and every now and then,
I think of you.
I look to the stars, as if though,
you left them all for me alone,
melting at times into my heart.
One falling star makes heart beats start.
Flickering candle through a field,
brings light to the dark, and opens
my senses to something dear-
something warm and sweet in your smile,
and opens a thousand windows
in my long, long life, that until now,
remained closed.


An Irish Blessing... for Dawn-Marie Wesley- Mission, B. C.

 -Because of the torment you recieved in your school, you chose to end your life, when in reality... you were much better, and more gifted a person, than anyone around you.  And, I would be very blessed, to have known you... if for only a day. 

-until a time, that I write a poem for you Dawn... I am dedicating this piece just for you.  You were so far away, but perhaps where you are now, you can feel the love, that is still here on this earth for you... the missing.  Your story has touched me in a very special and very deep way- a story that you and I, could share very closely.  I can relate to the hurt, that you must have felt in this world, a world of which, was never meant for one as beautiful, as you.  May God always, be with you, where you are.  You will always, be loved. 
-Love, David.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there... I did not die...
(Author Unknown)
-A prayer by Lori C. Rivera, East Meadow, New York, for all the victims of 911.
To All who lost loved ones on that horrific day I think about you, and it still brings tears to my eyes. I still don't understand how we let those terrorist get the best of us. I am glad we are fighting the war on terror. Sad how so many people had to die because of the terrorist. But I believe we will win, neither terrorist or their acts can conquer the love we have as a country. I pray for peace, and my prayer for the folks who lost someone in the 9/11 attacks...
Heavenly Father, We pray and believe in you,I pray for the families and loved ones of 9/11 tragedy as it's anniversary is upon us. Let those people know it only takes a mustard sad of faith to work miracles. Be their supply oh Lord as you have promised to be for anyone who shall believe in you. Bless anyone who lost someone in those attacks, my heart still aches for their loss, calm their grief, give them strength,comfort, and peace in Jesus name I pray, Amen.
For Diane...  
"Diane Malone, from East Meadow, New York.  A dedication in her loving memory, by Lori C. Rivera...
-A vision of loveliness as she would walk across the room, Her kindness she would extend...A hand would hand would reach out to greet yours,with a kind smile on her face. Her heart of gold would open up to you, and she would give it all  for all she could do. A wonderful Mom, Sister, Daughter and friend, now one can comprehend what was loss to us this day...God Bless Diane, there is a new angel in heaven...
Diane, your suffering is over.  May you now, be in peace... and forever.  You will be remembered and loved, always.
-This is a short letter from a very special little girl, who lives in China.  Her name is Leaf, and I have corresponded with her, and her mother Jane, for almost 2 years now.  They both have taught me, so much about the Chinese culture there, her city, and home, and how people there think, and feel, about so many things in china.  Very dear friends to me, who I very much cherrish indeed.  Just another very small lesson, in my long life, of pictures, and words, and faces, where from I have learned........ to turn leaves myself, and always look back, and understand why.  Leaf is nine, and has become an angel in my life, or light in my heart.  And once again, I learn something so extremely important... something, that comes from innocence.  -David.
...if someone did what he didn't want in his mind,and it made him in a blue mood though.don't give up your hopes and best wishes in your heart friend.Just hold up your head,and keep it high,and you are the best in the world.
Mum,you always says you would be the mode in my life.i believe you can do the best mum,please keep on doing your work and never give up,please hold up your head and look for the blue and clear sky for yourself.
You are the best in the world and you are my best mum on the are always my best mode! I love your mum! 
---your daughter ,Leaf
The Broken Moth
the mother who cries, cries inside,
and waits in her room alone.
awaits the wind that moves in stillness
cropped into characteristics she owns.
her soul may paint the colors of her tomb
the broken moth in the window sill,
a rose, that never bloomed.
she steals the light of every day,
in her time of quietness she tucks away
somewhere in winter, for her coming may.
and how at times, she looks that way,
when she dreams of thirty-two.
again, some word, some faded song,
will catch her moving in the night—
weightless, and drifting in the light,
as dancing with shadows or forgotten dreams
that waited the years, to move her heart-
lift up the magic, and live the part.
but only in these moments passed,
lives out that, which can never last-
to absorb the dream, the weighted cast,
that locked in her gifts, and splendid ways,
that a stranger's kiss could not decay.
a scent that flies amidst the darkness,
cries the child's voice softly...
the inner light, that preserves it's flight-
motion of wing, to night,
till when in spring it's rest shall come,
somewhere between what is right, and wrong-
fear of all that is death, be gone!
our fragile wings will stand their test,
and break apart upon the shore,
at last when winter returns again ...
to find them sleeping, here once more.
~If I knew it would be the last time
That I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly
and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.
If I knew it would be the last time
that I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss
and call you back for one more.
If I knew it would be the last time
I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would video tape each action and word,
so I could play them back day after day.
If I knew it would be the last time,
I could spare an extra minute
to stop and say "I love you,"
instead of assuming you would KNOW I do.
If I knew it would be the last time
I would be there to share your day,
Well I'm sure you'll have so many more,
so I can let just this one slip away.
For surely there's always tomorrow
to make up for an oversight,
and we always get a second chance
to make everything just right.
There will always be another day
to say "I love you,"
And certainly there's another chance
to say our "Anything I can do?"
But just in case I might be wrong,
and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you
and I hope we never forget.
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance
you get to hold your loved one tight.
So if you're waiting for tomorrow,
why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes,
you'll surely regret the day,
That you didn't take that extra time
for a smile, a hug, or a kiss
and you were too busy to grant someone,
what turned out to be their one last wish.
So hold your loved ones close today,
and whisper in their ear,
Tell them how much you love them
and that you'll always hold them dear
Take time to say "I'm sorry,"
"Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay."
And if tomorrow never comes,
you'll have no regrets about today.

(Poem from 9-11-01... Author Unknown)
-Somewhere through night,
when moons rest still-
nightbirds flying homeward,
and the tall oaks sway,
sounds of children
flutter inside me.
Hearing becomes clear 
to a silent world around me. 
Often, in dreams,
I walk with them-
lost chattering in a crowd,
and drawings float
in the sky above me-
paintings sing loud,
of memory and love once held. 
Alone, there is a child-
quiet, and distant in the
fields beyond me-
a place in the shadows,
hiding out of light,
yet disturbed by the night,
she trembles to the touch of wind. 
Small thing, of such beauty-
tiny angel, my friend,
I've come only to sit with you,
to watch the starlight twinkle too. 
I'll not let the darkness in,
but shroud you with love,
till morning comes again...
then, I'll walk with you, home.

-angels are born in whispers of wind
around the roses of a field
intangled emotions like colors blend
into rooms of the heart and feel
cast not away the tear of a soul
but all that chokes the fading heart
whose trials in life are never told
who sits and waits 'til they are old
whose voice in silent nights unfold
to eventually sing their given part.
"for Tangela..."

Once Upon a Stolen Kiss
-a tormenting of innocence
-morning of unholy sacrifice
boy stands at a wooden fence
aged in the salt of fallen tears
failure recalls forgotten years
tormented in his innocence
faces closely screaming
voices and unwanting sounds alike
find him chasing his every dream
but always in circles and out of light
and to the ends of time he knows
that dreams must surely die of old it seems
society the gathering of screaming lambs
how appearances fool each giving hand
and take all what they choose not to leave
will someone finally understand
that gold is held in stronger hands
yet breaks apart eventually?
conscience jolted by those whose pride
demands to feel what they can not see
where emotions are spirited from invisibility
is there no man?
but all of what one does not feel
still comes faint light of innocence
when once they too could not hurt nor steal
nor apply upon the weak his meal
to now administer poison into his mind
through brief moments of blinded sence
one unforgiven sin
do we think to create eternity then?
from every playground in shadows wait
in unchosen manner undecided fate
small boy who one day will learn to hate
when once upon a stolen kiss
a leaf may turn but much too late
who will society blame for this?
-Today's "normal" children between 9 and 17 are more anxious than those treated for psychiatric disorders 40 years ago. And while the suicide rate for the general population has been stable since the 1950s, the rate for 10 - 14 year olds more than tripled between 1980 and 1992.
~The American Psychological Association's Journal of Personality and Social Psychology
There is a reason, behind every emotion, of a child.
These are links, concerning bullying and harrassment:
Consider Kaitie  (Still missing)  (Picture not available)
-The letter I recieved from the child's parents, thanking me for this poem I had written for Kaitie, I recieved in 1999.  Kaitie, has not yet, been found.  Please keep this little girl in your thoughts and prayers.  The mother and father, are still hurting so much... the pain, never ends.  All those, you love in your life, look at them... and be very thankful.
-David Culver
~Soft white walls around you,
images of roses come through time,
and replace the welting eye brow
that watches -- moving slowly
through demented wrinkles of
locked inside of memory, those
who have not forgotten.
But what ways of the wind have
you turned?
What direction can you absorb
the sunlight in your face--
gold, and hanging low in the sky?
I walk out in the early mornings,
and within each silent moment,
wander with each soft breeze,
in long breaths, in long sighs.
So many whispers of sadness
blow by--
eyes of souls in passing,
I no longer see -- searching
the darker forest inside of me,
but not without the sound of
you calling.  
Life, can so be felt in greater
distances than this--
the face of a child that smiles
inside us--
the lost, or stolen kiss.
The innocence will always be you--
thoughts of love take you, back
into rooms of your heart,
where somebody watches--
someone remembers,
the dark red rose, that
springs each winter.
-Heaven Lashne Ross
-Heaven, has been missing since august 19th, 2003, from Northport, Alabama- a small town outside of Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  She is 11 yrs of age.  Heaven, never made it to the bus stop that morning.  Whoever views this, please join in prayer, for her safe return home again.  Copy url below, to view her poster.
-Come home Heaven...
Lost Touch
-I came to a dark room,
to be shown something empty-
the crowning of evil,
and long rains and winds
outside my window. 
A girl died,
and helplessness was common-
as common as it's feeling
wearing through the skin
to one's mind- visions screaming. 
But I never closed an eye. 
Yet a well of pain opened
in their sounds through
the half opened door.
And in night, a baby died. 
Two code blues, a life leaves,
a life is taken... and why?
A girl dies unknowingly,
in another place. 
I watched the rain falling
from my window on my face, and slept. 
Then, all the time was left. 
So much of this, and for this...
I wept.
Carlie... you are free.
Run Away
-I will always wonder, what way
you walked-
leaving away so suddenly. 
And words were shared, though in
deeper thought,
some of them come back to me. 
So new to life you once became-
doors which open before you still,
alter the sense of home you gained,
to find a new, and if so, you will. 
Yet home, will always be another place,
and so young in your life, you run. 
From this place, away, another face,
may teach you someday my son,
that home is where the heart remembers,
and home is the heart alone that lingers,
and becomes, conscience within us,
that someday may bring us...
back, when our journey's done.

Kristina's Rose
-raindrop on rose, bent in sorrowful mourn,
raising leafletts of grass around it-
hidden from the view of birds, from God,
yet heard, in the gentle steps that found it. 
it swaying there, where comes no air-
smothered in a field, that could not understand,
that indifference is not a tool to sever ties, which
bind it's soul, but flies the bitter moth away,
to still another. 
it bows not alone, in this world of stone,
nor will less stronger than starlight, its light may be! 
yet, with tear, and touch, to have felt this much,
this rose... is like a garden to me.
Portrait (1992)
-of a homeless
watch the freckled leaves twist-
brownish, and matted on a winter eve.
Is there something hidden, you relate to this,
that brings you from behind the steeple walls,
to crouch in shadows where they fall and drift?
As if, seeking some answere, you thought God missed?
And was it this, that through colored lens I caught,
something sweet in your portrait, of loneliness?
last vision
white soft far sun you trimble
and the watcher responds
window bright but light is closed
child you dread the rain
of early morn
and where is home anymore
hum loud be of open conscience
unto death and life within
open your hands to the wind
seek the words find the screams
where you hide is known
calm the winds of breath and night
soft light and friend forever gone
family was never real for one
whose candles melt
hope fades as dying lights
of amber go 'way
no help is there to clasp the sweaty palm.
Into Silence
-A child's life, is more important than we can understand.  They are of God, only he holds to them, until that day, he releases them to this world.  How, they are loved, and taught, is up to us.  God is watching our descissions... each one, we come to make.
-David Culver
I hear you, in dark waters,
without sound.
Voice crying, lost between
heaven and womb,
locked in my senses without
birth --
of no earth, wandering spirit,
You were small fingertips,
of wanting, inside me
reaching toward sunlight, falling
before the rest --
disturbed from your sleep,
unknowingly rotated into silence,
surrendering your deliverance
of life ... to death.
Rose Pictures 5 lg
Charity's Rose  (for Terry)  -1995

-The things we learn from our own mistakes
allow us to become the people we are.  Transformations
we experience in life, sometime take a life time to understand.  
But the experience never dies.  God, DOES work in our lives.
In the 1990's, I came to realize... he controlled more, than we think. 
As we, can not let go of our past, he also, never lets go, of us. 
In the lowest point of a person's life, what that person may open himself
up to learning, will be that person's strong hold for the rest of his life,
and will be remembered always.  (God's stepping stones, I suppose...) 
The teaching, continues... the learning, never ends. 
And, not till we look behind ourselves, do we see the real truth. 
Such a long road... but never, is one totally alone, who walks it.  -dc. 

-A rose, discovered by love had died.
Though perhaps it was some time ago,
it's color has browned, it's petals dried.
What weeping heart, whose forgotten bride's
lost soul amidst these flowers hide?
One will never know.
And how inside life's circle brings
us here again, to face the thing.
And why when love matures, the cold
may freeze us in one moment's dream
to retrieve again those things we've known,
and to more admire, when at last alone,
the rose in it's death,
is a precious thing.
A Prayer For a Little One, Wherever You Are...
-Though you are lost- away from the womb of your life,
may you always in soft conscience, remain in the palms
of God's hands. 
May he allow you strength enough, to cling in your heart,
to the ties, which this life has bound you to-
love of those here, who will always, until death...
until life's passage, is no more, reach out for you...
wherever you are.
My prayer for this moment, for any lost child...
-the longest sounds of night,
will always come here now-

the water dripping, a murmur or cry,
a tinkling sound of crystal,

or tear drop, on my cold face,
from my little girl's eye.

and the wind, will always sound alone,
her chimes won't ring the same again.

and if loneliness becomes this place,
I'll carress her doll with my hands.

and if the silence steals my breath,
and stars begin to fall around me,

I'll walk in her room where she would rest,
and let her soft blue pillow,
find me.

A Father's Day
 Drawing of a boat at sunset
-today is the day if emotions locked-
if forgiveness was a common practice
and love really made life work for us
you would have reminded me
of what you felt inside that day I found you. 
today is the day of a weeping poet's voice
that rings through an empty room alone
and unheard- a broken heart that writes
the passage of a thousand wars
and a promise that was never filled
in this life until now.  and now...
there is no ear to hear, and no voice to speak-
smiles and laughter return no picture-
small boy who skipped stones across eternity
never reaching the shore stands in awe
searching the tall dark waves rolling-
turning to small white ripples
barely touching his heart.
a face turns into the darkness-
running forever inside of me...
dear child of my soul.
Rose Wood

Couple reflected in wet sand at sunset, with pier and Ferris Wheel behind. Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California, USA

-The old places passed, I never saw-
candlelit rose wood tables, and letters gone. 
I use to dream in open lines- write my moons
in silver shine, but long years have been unkind...
so what in me would turn your eyes? 
These walls for me are stone and gray,
and words I've seen scribbled, fade. 
What one man felt in his time alone,
sheds now his voice from his past on stone. 
And in the walls, I'm so alone,
to feel that one whose heart was there...
I know, I could have claimed my own. 
Yet, there is no home to where I go,
nor years in passing, to say if so. 
For now, that so use to this I am,
at times, I shouldn't even give a damn...
but deep inside I do, to when I sense
a smile from you, and all that dreams,
I know could do, one's ties may scare me
into my room... lock the door...
to dream of love, I never knew.
A Fathers' Little Sparrow
-Plant all your memories in the sand,
and call it twilight. 
Throw our dreams, in the waves of wind-
touching lost souls of children,
that now and then... their hearts
flicker, from darkness.  
My friend, you should keep your smile
in our life's last day. 
And keep the comforts of your heart alive
for times less reasonable-
times to last remember why,
things happen, in their special ways.
For in ways they do, sometimes we cry. 
We attempt to find love, before we die.
Sweet roses smell the air of graves,
with lasting words I repeat, caves
in my spirit's heart, so close beside you now,
yet so far apart. 
You fell into me little sparrow to rest.
I lent you my heart, to weave your nest,
and now, your time, has come to fly.
Our demensions cross- fate falls to test.
Though beyond your green meadows at best...
  blue sky!
Star of Our Rainbow
Grasp the dreams which find you-
hold fast their blood, in everyone.
And mark each step lost behind you,
by angle of moon, and setting sun.
Oh hear my breath, if ye shall turn
and find the eastern star of flame,
that spills in colors, till thy memories burn...
shisper softly to the night, its given name;
bright star of our rainbow.
Out of sight, out of mind -- lonely walks through
entangled dreams
where you dreamt a night, of being left behind, in
my dream you would never sing.
Stars skip across the tops of trees, they fall as
pinecones below our knees.
And winds of autumn blow away the leaves to have
gathered yearly around our door,
but these and such thoughts I must dream no more.
For faces of tears recollect themselves upon walls,
through small windows and dirty shelves.
Poems refound, having tales that tell of love that
dies through falling age,
where curtains descend on a silent stage.
In a darkened hall, one room, one cage where birds
on a wire through my window sing
in hope for a peaceful and early spring.
But hope is silent within these things, the stuff that
dreams are built upon.
And love is there, we feel, then move along and
songs we heard in our hearts are gone.
Stains upon my pillow rest, for though I've tried, I
failed at best.
Having touched your scarf, my dreams went on.

Somewhere Beyond the Rain
-Give me winds to remember thee,
and the smell of honey suckle, or golden hair.
Bright suns of morning, to stand me straight,
without dread of doom, without care.
Which path am I to choose between-
what is lost, or all left to be gained?
Out the window east, is home at least...
somewhere beyond the rain.

(a face in time)
-no tears shall fall here- yellow bright grave,
hidden from view of sky, cropped in the greenery
of wood, near spring that sighs in relief
that no visitors come.
no tears shall fall here- lost soul who could not
stand alone in the world through life-
tormented in some anguish,
left unattended from birth...
you are now the earth.
do you hear me speak to you little one?
can you, through autumn rains,
feel a presence come, who so often returns
with pen and pad, to write you as you were,
however young?
you came and went in this life alone...
and mine.
sweet child of my heart,
I leave my sorrows beside you each time,
I come, and oh, my tears will fall here,
one by one, when lost in my dreams...
you once, were mine.
forgive me, my sweet Katrina.
I lost you, in the war of life...
and in time.
Lady In the Glass
-In the midst of all that is dark,
one stands alone. 
Remembering, shameful, apart. 
Touched by fate, or by melting heart...
either of which, turns stone. 
I have watched you often,
upon cathedral walls,
holding hands of angels
that flew above you. 
Where unhidden, they bore wings,
you did not. 
You wear my dreams, and I have always,
forever, loved you.

 a very young child soldier wearing a beret and toting a machine gun - UN/DPI photo -The poem below, by Charlotte Mair, of Kamloops, British Columbia, depicts, provokes the common question, as to why, and what for in the poem below.  These are God's, not ours to munipulate the thought processes of.  Not ever, to absorb our own selfish selves, into their minds, to hurt as, and when, we ourselves hurt.  Must they hurt, for the reason... we hurt, therefor, we will not hurt alone??  These are God's.  These are things, that God holds true, in the molds of his creations.  Where we start, where we stop... and what we do with it all, in the end, is where the children will have learned, to carry on, to remember... to place their signature on later.
Will "The Child" of war find shelter?

I swear. I hear their cries at night __ feel them!
War and more war, death _ and more death
Heartache upon heartache and loss upon loss

Torment inside the teardrop eye of the middle east
Mother’s gone, father fights the war
Terror labours its way, in a blackened crawl
A mist of hate, that seeps into the blood drenched land
To permeate the soil for the future soldier
__ open wound _ a sore, a cancer

Children are taught not to be greedy

__ they are told it is wrong to inflict pain on another
__ not to be selfish, to show mercy and understanding
__ we teach them the ten great commandments __ don’t we?
Then__ to be soldiers one is taught to forget all teachings
Does it puzzle you to no end?

And how we can find the answer in physical contact

__ where is the line of right and wrong?
Forgive my naiveté __ pardon the heart of a mother
__ who thought she had raised her children well
__ and gave them loving kindness to pass onto a new generation

But, will the Child of War ever find shelter?

-Written by David T. Culver, and edited by Charlotte G. Mair (Publisher/Poet)


I feel an urge to see or venture beyond my means
to understand ___ or to pretend again

I've stepped out
      risen above the ordinary
      lost hold on my bed frame
      and have stepped out the window

I am breathing space,
for those who claim___ no responsibility for me

I am youth in
sheltered arms and sword

I am lost to eyes outside these boarders
      and left unfettered
      to walk on dirty sides of trails and roads
      that lead nowhere, everywhere, somewhere

I am the red dress torn
      the dim stain on a bench that no one saw
      I AM all that is left
      of these frontiers missed -- the forgotten years
      the place I was born
      a reflection in my mother's mirror
      cascaded in multi-colors
      through my family's memories

I am my yesterdays
      crawling toward horizons blindly
I am you in your aftermath
      in your wars

            I am you.

~the pains are many
and they are harsh
rumbling the distance
shattering the fields
where I ran
as a child
with you
... is now gone
the tears are long
and they are streaming
rivers of memory
rise up to meet me
green leaves swirling
in the orange dust
stealing each sound of silence
... we dare to forget
wet cloth
drapes our shoulders
hides us from sun
and flame
protects us from
the hot fire
that comes again
in long running
that for a moment
keeps pace...
with the memory
... of your smile.

-there are sounds the autumn's breaking
above me, pictures, blue, metallic and crisp,
all show as summer settles to rest
in the far western hills
oh that my life in age reflects
small fires or songs of the heart
christmas settings of other days
photos on a table years apart
why have not the stars fallen
and why in this void, a darkness peers
saddened of odor, casted 'way- forgotten
slowly hints dreams, of you
my dear

The Long White Room
Listen, as light through broken window, peers back the heart of you, 
slowly, to soften each thought of pain - to adjust your face to sun, or rain. 
For 'twas long, till light would shine back through, and you drempt of 
death again. 
You stare, as if through invisible glass - lost in delusions of the past. 
The wanting still burns with glimmering eyes - like tears, you craddled,
but never knew. 
And I've known you, somehow inside  me- whose eyes before this time 
had seen, 
all the broken familiar things that fell apart, and fell into - 
a part of the moon I blamed with you, for things we could not understand, 
until now. But now, is when our shadows sleep - with us, inside us, 
and warmth may keep the ghost away, but only for a while they stay, 
far from in the silent room, we seldom thought at all, to pray.
The Angel and the Viper
"Prison, will not hold our hearts, nor confine the wings of our spirits."
-Prisoner, in your darkened walls, hangmen of your day brought forth your rage,
though in the lapse of time, somewhat appeared tormented in their own years...
but you, you were caged. 
Noosed carefully, and so fatefully cursed- baited with salt of your life, and hurt,
dweller of these halls, you pace in fear!  And in your dark room at times
you could hear the vipers play. 
Yet to look deep inside one's turning face, could your expectations of others trace,
an awareness of God's lost souls?  And so far from home, so far from grace,
regathering as they go, dreams that were stolen, or thrown to waste. 
For in our eye a rhythum flows.  Something hides deep in the quiet hums,
from a place where flames never rose... but angels come.
Yet, there are those, who upon the weak, still prey, in the world from which you've run. 
Oh keeper of these hearts, these empty nest, 'tis here, they wander from love unblest.
Return them, their strength, and a will to cope, that their threads of faith
shall become your rope,
into their unduely, and timeless rest.
Streams overflowing in the prisoner's mind, never bound by walls
or guardmen's chains,
felt inside whispers of poetic dreams, shine,
deep within the dweller's peace.  God... fill their hearts with thine.
But widely, often, and without control, all that so dearly, we hold to heart,
may slip into pieces, anger takes us whole!
When ones torn will, has taken its toll, the devils curse will start.
'Tis awfully quiet, to crawl inside- to repaint your life, from where you hide, 
But n'er less than the weak, do the strong ones cry.
For facing our own lives in fear, we fall.  And of nothing, are we assured at all!
Though some, will dream on, and some ask why, in the corners of our darkness, inside we die.
And when another feather descends from flight, it will come to rest in my dreams tonight,
And though pain is great, it runs so far- far beyond what and who we are,
to balance the tension, that steals our light.  Yet somehwere still, one is lost from night,
retacing the steps they knew... a world, too far from sight. 
And in one long sober, and pensive motion, while but once the shade of dusk has fled,
you stand weary-eyed, and face the ocean- your long frail body beside the bed. 
And through your small and narrow window space, without statement upon your face,
you stare beyond the walls and earth, unsheltered in some dishonored shame.
You stand one of many, without a name.  Yet, something warm, as though a flame
rekindles the measures of your life, and gives this exsistence worth. 
It took this long, this far to come, to see the pale colors that time can give.
That all the years of youth relived, can not replace this point in time.
And what posture would poets have thought you in?
That here, unoticed, again departs that part of a person, we mark as sin,
from the rest of your broken and battered heart.
We make marks in the sand, and a language grows-
with hums of our voices, a music flows- a thirst in our hearts, and a yearning glows.
Like flames of eternal lanterns burning far past the death of suns still turning,
around and round, we fall alone. But alone, we begine the journey.
Time now, administers an oath to thee.  Though your heart shall remain your deepest ocean,
with but this, dwell, till you come to be, the key to your own emotions. 
If where one breath may draw salvation, I would embrace you in your long, and final nod.
From one step, to another, you have found relation... for the first time in your life...
  you questioned God.
—winds trail the paths you left upon
in years of yore and setting suns
as merely a child, you took my heart
sprinkled simplicities of your innocent way
and though faces could fly so far apart
your presence in life to have lived without,
I knew somehow from the very start
death would become half of me—inside of me
around me and would bind my feet and arms-
bind me to the earth; earth of stone,
in age of old to die alone
I see you clearly through nights of autumn
the crystal dark skies so abundantly
tell of time's images flying from me,
away, like dreams vanishing in our wake
I will always feel the missing inside me
and hold to a time my heart transformed
from dark pillowed dust from where
I found, my escapes—my ways away from life
to run—
if only a moment to return the years—
to bring back the crackled grins of cheer,
or if, in sprinkled rain, may come
soft reflections time bestows on one
who stands alone, if then, to grasp the withered stone—
to clutch the days forever gone. Oh if only a far tone,
to rekindle the fire from within your life—the song,
or glimmering shimmers of an autumn night,
like this one, to have placed you in my light,
and never to leave you this far, alone.

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Woman standing in cemetery
Poems For the Missing