It’s not about what you can hope to get from others; it’s about what you can give to others, by giving to yourself.

raindrops crush under the weight of their
descent-
a rapid free fall precipitated by angry
rumblings and swollen pride-
thrust into frigid, swirling winds like an
orphan in search of a cause-
but reveling in the freedom of that
solo flight-
it’s a one way destiny to a single lane
road-
where every second is prized,
but places more distance between
now and then-
there is only forward*

A reflection tells a story,
once the ripples have long since cleared-
peer down into the stillness of the black
tarn-
and remember what you see-
know that the true world will tell you
no lies-
as spiritually destitute as you may seem-
as emotionally bankrupt as you may feel,
those eyes looking back at you will tell you
where you’ve been,
and its mouth will whisper where to go*

There are times when just being alive is
simply not good enough-
there are moments when just having a job
is not completely sufficient-
there are days when just making it by
is not quite enough to make it by-
these are the times when that fire needs
to be stoked-
these are the times when we
must rediscover a way to fan the flames,
and trickle a stream of petrol to incite that blazing
intensity-
these are the times when inhuman effort
needs to be pumped into every possible
vein,
rather than feel them collapse under the weight
of the persistent load-
simply making excuses will only paint you into
into a corner-
we are wedged in time like a rock under a falling
tree-
constantly pressing against the weight of a
consistent force-
if we push back, we may escape-
the moment we give up may be our last*

Scattered leaves loosed themselves under
the subtle october wind-
a brittle cascade of vanishing life
descending like watercolor snow-
an autumn torrent ripe with a somber,
vibrant hue-
a farewell to warm currents,
flush with life-
those living breezes, floating on a bed
of lofty dreams-
now, a homecoming of bitter stillness-
sleep trapped memories, encased
in the dim chill of winter-
I watched it come,
and I watched it walk away again-
from the shadows it came,
and into the night it went-
snows have melted under the heat of our
flame,
and blossoms will sprout again,
in tune with the
comfort of our smiles,
and the longevity of our voices-
change is intricately woven into every vein of
every leaf-
and they have graciously accepted that fate*

Water traces pre-paved tracks,
like ancient lunar channels,
and the watch hand ticks its way around
the given course-
eyes open inevitably with the orange glow
of the dawn,
and close readily under the pale dominance of the
blue moon-
there are many pages to this book-
many incarnations contained within the
carefully placed sentences and phrases-
many interpretations are interwoven between
chosen paragraphs and words-
many lives laced into a adhesive web-
concealed in the depth of a dense mist-
how many times can you think of the one thought that
will destroy all thoughts-
and why-
how many years can you sit and listen to the ocean
from inside of the shell-
spending your hours listening to the echo
of a distant voice-
as distant as the rolling sea-
calling out to you with flailing arms-
and pleading,
as you watch with glassy eyes and
transparent expressions-
there are many pages to this book-
they are placed in chronological order,
but are most often pondered randomly-
do you read the last page first?
endings are what beginning are made from-
for all the pages spent frivolously-
spent like pennies into a fountain-
spent like dollars in December-
spent first and then considered later-
pages spent-
blued under that watercolor moon-
speckled wet in the bright darkness of night-
frayed at the edges-
thumbed over many times-
foxed and creased with use-
many pages-
scribed by experience-
penned using an ink pigmented
with the tears of yesterday, the dreams of today,
and the hopes of what tomorrow will be-
it’s up to the reader to keep reading-
the writer to keep writing-
and the heart to keep beating*

Mid afternoon sun pierced the shades-
amber slivers filtered into the room and
settled on the far wall-
scattered fragments of wayward dust swirled
in and out of the golden seams
like crystal fireflies-
the stillness danced in my ears,
sweeter than a favorite song-
I lay back-
the rich warmth hovering over my skin
like an old blanket-
nurturing-
and cleansing-
the moment, smooth and decadent-
the warmth in my soul hotter still-
meditations like these are more powerful
than a thousand laughs-
more relevant than a hundred smiles-
balance defined-
true harmony cannot be replaced-
when the mind is at peace, the world
listens*

The anchors have been discarded-
thick steel links severed
and lumbering heavily into the mysterious
depths of the frozen sea-
wind is in the sails above-
taut canvas full, and wide, and deep-

spread eagerly like open arms welcoming an
old friend-
embracing the gale with rigid fortitude-
full speed ahead-
ahead-
there is land to be discovered*

In the void she stood-
out of the warm cradle of his arms-
in the cold, she perched-
hands clasped,
eyes, moist with decisions-
cheeks streaked with finality-
and all just out of reach-
She expelled him from her life
like water is wrenched from a towel-
and then she hung that towel up to dry-
evaporating any memory of him*