I stared at you in the stillness
of that moment-
oh, how still it was-
a mountain lake, untouched
by consequence-
like a leaf at dawn,
meditating before the world
awakes-
how many still moments were
spent-
rife with tension-
or flush with love-
how many moments were spent
wading through the silence of
unspoken sentiments-
you as my muse-
dictating the code of my life-
drafting the blueprint of my days-
the architect of those quiet hours
spent whispering through gestures-
conversing through movements-
communicating with a stillness
resonating louder than fresh
spring rain-
all by looking into your eyes-
how simple-
how sweet-
without complication-
oh, how still it was*

At arm’s length-
that’s where you reside-
far enough to avoid the sting-
enough distance to dodge the blow-
at arm’s length is where you must
be-
what would you do if you were reeled
in?
far better to watch the ship sink
from the safety of the shore-
the many cries and screams from above
and below deck should be warning
enough-
why board it just to ride it to the bottom
of the sea?
far safer to watch the burning building from
the other side of the street-
at arms length-
it’s safer there-
you’re able to dodge the burn-
deftly parry the strike-
enough time to react-
time enough to escape-
at arms length-
that’s where you must be*

I caught the smile in your eyes
like a firefly in a jar-
it was as sweet as the one worn
on your lips-
like a painting-
spread thoughtfully on a canvas by
a steady hand-
each stroke so deftly placed-
I bottled it up and stared at it through
the glass-
a beautiful creation
tapping gently against the sides
with mystery-
I didn’t want to let it go*

Oh, the things-
love wound into furious strands
and woven into the tips of my
fingers as they brush your
face-
oh, the things-
like a field of lilacs,
you barrage my senses-
the sun just as wanting of you as I-
as we both break rank just to beam at
you-
your generosity absorbing us both-
oh, the things-
oh, the things you do to me as minutes
turn to hours-
oh, the thoughts that dance around
as hours become eternity-
each moment sweet and as strong
as the love woven tightly into strands-
and woven into the soul of my
actions*

The November leaf is aware of its
frailties,
as it skids along-
the grain of sugar dissolves without
a care and is mindful of its
role-
how often must one question the teacher
when the answers will eventually be
scribbled on the board?

It pierced the part of the brain that
nurtures memory-
and shattered it into a thousand
shards-
through it went-
cradled in summer’s end-
moments evaporating under the
fierce velocity-
flecks of yesterday soaring like
doves-
out if it crept a cryptic entity-
secretive,
and cunning-
cloaked in familiar skin-
and when he smiled,
you would recognize him-
out of it came an entity intent
on living-
regardless of the fate of his
predecessor-
where he failed, the new creation
prospered-
until the originator was swallowed
by the shadow and thrust into a
darkened pool-
his thoughts scattered into a thousand
shards-
his memories evaporated like
flecks of yesterday, soaring like doves
through cobwebbed trees*

We are all blades of grass,
waiting to be sheared-
stones,
waiting to be cut-
clay,
prepped for the molding-
holes,
yearning to be filled-
each one seeking to make a lasting
impression-
each one drawn to belong-
drawn to what matters-
bait on a hook,
ready to be cast far into a tranquil
sea-
we are all searching
for ourselves-
they wait for us*

Would the scorched flower consider the
sun beautiful-
would the flooded town long for the
whispering lullaby of the rain-
would the decimated forest marvel at the
calm of a roaring fire-
would the leveled populace gaze peacefully
into the surging of the ocean waves-
there is a story that can be read from back
to front-
how bad to you choose to know it-
what are you willing to overlook-
is the tiger still beautiful when you know what it’s
capable of-
how bad do you choose to know it-
and how bad do you want to see?*

Imagine a heavy door
clad in thick steel,
yet as fragile as a stalk of
grass-
imposing,
but not impenetrable-
dense,
but easily thrust open-
so it is with dreams-
daunting,
but not impossible-
intimidating,
but ultimately achievable*

Create a culture of doing,
and you will create a culture of
winning-
inactivity breeds a sense of
idleness-
and idleness enables failure-
the easiest thing in the world is
to become plateaued-
to sink into a rut that your wheels
can’t spin out of-
it isolates you from yourself-
and convinces you that the best
decision is to stay put and ride
it out-
it’s just that there you’ll stay-
in that hole of your own making-
until you activate your own culture
of doing-
do, and your wheels will spin-
do, and your culture will enable you*