What is love by any other name?

When the rain comes to meet the ground,
When the world is blank; no one’s around;
It is there, the flower that grows,
It is there, the one who knows.

When the fire burns at the touch,
When fear consumes and becomes too much;
It is there to ease your pain,
It is there to guide your way.

When those who stand force you to crawl,
When you stumble and you fall;
It is there to ease your thought,
It is there, that which beside you fought.

When the dark becomes your day,
When many leave and no one stays;
It is there to be your light,
It is your day and there at night.

When you feel you know nothing more,
When your soul battles inner war;
It is there to teach your heart,
It is there before it starts.

When you may not understand,
When nothing seems to go as planned;
It is there to help you wonder,
It is there to stop the thunder.

It is there through all your ‘Whens,’
It is there to meet broken ends;

‘It is,’ is Love; no thing, no theme;
An endless want, but an attainable dream.

For what is Love by any other name?
The desire for all, that’s hard to claim.
For what is Love by any other name?
No other, or it then would have then became.

copyright 2013 Aiden Delaney



As an adult…

 Our heart sees from the outside in,
but what we love is unsatisfying,
and we love one at a time.

 Our memories look back on what has been,
but what we remember is unsatisfying,
and we cut them out one at a time.

 Our hands feel what we can just reach,
but what we grasp is unsatisfying,
and we let go one at a time.

 Our footprints know not what they will teach,
but the path we lead is unsatisfying,
and we quit one at a time.

 Our eyes see what is only before us,
but what we watch is unsatisfying,
and we close them one at a time.

 Our lips form words that can impress,
but what we say is unsatisfying
and we silence them one at a time.

 But as a child…

 Their heart sees from the inside out,
but they will love anyway,
and they love everything.

 Their memories begin unknowing of what they’ll be about,
but they will create them anyway,
and their pictures color everything.

 Their hands reach out to what may not be there,
but they will reach out anyway,
and they touch everything.

 Their footprints settle next to those scattered by the pair,
but they will jump from one to the next anyway,
and they will do everything.

 Their eyes see what is beyond the object,
but they will watch anyway,
and they see more of everything.

 As an adult…

Our job is to create a path our child can follow and be
but a life that is creative and fair
and an ending worthy of their innocence.

 Because as a child…

They will love, remember, touch, follow, and see
but will do these things without a care
and will become in the end, limitless.

copyright 2013 Aiden Delaney

Now you see me, now you don’t

Mirrors hang here and there along the room
images trapped in reflections of the past.
Pictures hang limply off hooks in the walls
of portraits where people were placed just right
pretending to show the memories by a single frozen smile.

It is quiet here. In this room. In this house.
It is empty and filled to the brim of all sorts of things.
But that is all there is here. Things. Things with faces and no names.
Or maybe they’re names with faces and no soul.
Isn’t that what memories are?

Find me. Pick me out among these cluttered things.
I’m just simply in mirrors hanging from the walls on rusted hooks.
And backward frames with frayed edges
Embracing life-like coloring pages with wrinkled corners.

Now you see me, now you don’t.
Where in the world could you see a thing,
Make it beautiful, capture it in your foggy lens,
And stack it on the plastered walls of a quiet room,
In an empty house, where you no longer see me?

You said you told me.
You said you found me.
You said you saw me…
How could you when you could not see
Past your own reflection?

copywrite 2012 Aiden Delaney

To be is to begin…

To dream is to grow, is to hope.
To search is to disappoint, is to cope.

 To do again is to hurt, is to wonder.
To meet is to disbelieve, is to fall under.

 To follow is to learn, is to show.
To hold is to try, is to know.

 To one day is to long time, is to only days.
To no words is to no thoughts, is to haze.

To knelt is to upward, is to shine.
To caught is to “Yes,” is to finally mine.

 To white is to beauty, is to new beginnings.
To life is to losing, is to catching the winnings.

 To us is to no more I’s, is to ours.
To finding is to destiny, is to greater powers.

To one man is to one woman, is to one love.
To be is to begin, is to the end of above.

 And to the end of above is Forever.

copyright 2012 Aiden Delaney


Golden pools ooze, like that of yellow gashes,
whilst memories linger still, amongst the sifted ashes.
And in forgetful desperation, the oozing over-flows,
Remembrances I begged of God not to ever know.

 The empty bottles lay, there upon the floor,
Throwing blurring images, behind each hidden door.
The haunts of all the weaknesses, that constantly defeat me,
Force me to slam them closed, and throw away each key.

 I once upon a time was whole, but that was merely then,
nowadays I shrink to become, what’s left of what I’d been.
Falling to my knees, cause standing’s not enough,
just another soul, who drinks to drain each cup.

 The golden liquid calls, tempting me and still,
I give right in, facing that fact, that I have lost my will.
To only down the pain, that I cannot seem to leave,
knowing it gets harder – much harder to believe.

 They say it’s just a few more days, until I reach sobriety,
And it’s the whiskey that I see, cannot truly set me free.
Now I understand, that it is never over,
and life is far too UNREAL, when lived never sober.

copyright 2012 Aiden Delaney

Beautiful Disaster

A beautiful disaster, hovers at my door,
Haunting ocean waters, leaving footprints on the shore.
I walk hand-in-hand, with a soul’s chaotic tranquility,
And drag my feet into a run, fighting immobility.

Contorted visions pursue, at a close distance away from me,
As apparitions of buildings appear amongst debris.
I find a vivid light, that slowly dies to dark,
Leaving no sign of its existence, but an invisibly still mark.

Noiseless screams echo, against the concrete wall,
Silent stone turns soft, forcing those who stand to crawl.
Strange and wonderful at  its best, but never quite alone,
Accompanied by my thoughts, that no one has ever shown.

The broken chains that set me free, bound me to the ground,
Abandoned by the open locks, but metal bars surround.
An opening that I pursue, that never closed before,
A battle of endless struggles, but there seems to be no war.

A candle that cannot seem to light, but still it leads the way,
A burst of such dramatic color, which really is mere grey.
I see and yet I don’t’, I wish and then I don’t,
What I cannot seem to understand, is maybe because I won’t.

My heart stays whole though it breaks,
Each day a day of beautiful mistakes.
I grasp to find the hidden angles,
But I am plagued by twisted angels.

One day I hope for my soul, to run, and run thus free,
And finally let the stranger go, to free my consciousness and me.

copyright2012 Aiden Delaney