Weep No More (poem)

As the droplets trickle down in paths like human veins, and rain falls, a gentle cacophony against the glass

The flowers have all closed their petals

And the sky has gone quiet.

I cannot hear the songs anymore

They used to reach out to me like branches of trees

But now silence has deadened their limbs and wilted their leaves.

It is the sound of faded colors

The earth slowly weeping.

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Poem

Out in the field where the weeds rustle, and bend and shimmer in waves like golden honey.
Only the stars can see us, those stars, encapsulated by their deep folds of space
Their lights winking out one by one by one, until we're all that's left.

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Poem

I walked down my path through the trees; the sunlight streaming down in golden rays, and illuminating each individual needle on the towering pines beside me, dazzling my eyes.This spot in the forest was mine; there was no sign, no deed in my name, but it was mine. I could sense it in the way that the trees recognized me and waved their branches, could sense it in the whisper of the lazy wind as it made its way through the leaves; the sun warming my back like a friendly smile, or the deep reverberations of the earth, as it awakened with every step, welcoming me back. 














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Ocean

Sometimes I'm like an ocean.

I can feel waves and currents pulling the threads of my being into the deep.










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Desiderata

This basically sums up my whole life. This is everything I believe in, and everything that I strive to be. It's the model by which I live. It's simple and perfect.

Desiderata is Latin for "desired things".

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Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

-Max Ehrmann

Change (poem)

I took a walk today, and I met someone along the way.

She was wearing a long white dress, no shoes, with a bright yellow flower in her hair.
We walked awhile, wending our way leisurely down the path as the wind blew warm laughter through the leaves and the light danced with shadow, waltzing in circles around our feet.

We spoke no words.
Everything we needed to say passed between us in heartbeats and the crunch of pebbles beneath our feet.

As we walked along, the trees began to change. The sunlight grew thin and the leaves began their dying dance toward the expectant earth.

I looked over at her, but she had changed too. She was now striking in a black dress, with lips painted deep crimson and a black hat that dipped down and covered her eyes.

The path became uneasy now. The air grew colder, the surroundings increasingly barren until all I could see were tree skeletons and the unspoken words my breath left like crystals on the frigid air.

I looked back again, but she was gone.
Nothing left but her name, the word, left like a faint whisper of gold dust in the air.
Change...



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Fireworks (poem)

The canvas of my mind is dark like the night sky.
There are stars and planets that faintly dot the darkness with points of light
Occasionally, the moon comes up, in a variance of one of its cycles, and casts a soft glow over everything.

But that's not what I want.

What I want are fireworks.
I want explosions of color to paint my sky, different and unique bursts of light and shapes cascading and spiraling and painting vibrant pictures that tell stories.

I don't want my life to be another night panged with anticipation. Another bland night where I watch the sky, just hoping for something to happen.

No. I'm ready to take action. And if I have to strike the match and light the fuse myself, I will.




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