Originally posted on 7-12-11.
I searched the desert sands
just to later realize that I was in the
and the pool of water that I sought so
desperately was just within reach,
only I was too parched to
and by that point, too weak to
I lay there on my back,
atop a mossy patch of green, tangled
insects trekked over me as if I were
an abandoned log-
they went about their way,
in search of their own sparkling oases.
The leaves around me rustled with
and the brush was alive with movement.
I lay motionless, staring at the soaring
deep and blue and rich
with a tint of yellow orange sun,
absorbing the sounds of my temporary
I heard feet brush past me-
I’d closed my eyes to rest, you see, and
I followed the hurried sound with my ears
and opened them slowly to see myself
walking toward the pool,
which was only a few paces away,
right in front of me…
the entire time.
I wearily watched this version
stride to the pool and take a drink;
how effortless it truly was, and
then I questioned how difficult I’d made it
out to be, sipping from that pool.
I turned back to the sky
and cursed this alternate me,
enraged at the thought of what could
but I was only cursing myself…
I realized then that I wandered the desert
because I never thought that I was
worthy of a drink*
Originally posted on 1-7-12, with music.
What is flesh, but a creation?
A limited fuse lit by an unseen hand-
Can it heal?
Can it grow?
and we don’t have to lift a finger.
What is flesh, but a wrapper,
much like a candy bar,
or a tiny mint-
a mask for something more defined
a shirt for our thoughts,
socks for our feelings,
a jacket for our innermost workings-
we can spend years crying tears of all
or smiling moonlit smiles…
with or without the courage to move
forward, or backward,
with or without the strength to stand on
What is flesh, but a creation-
what is creation, but a thought turned into
and action, a collection of concerted
and all we have to do is continue to
The sun…it always shines*
We live in a world fueled by coffee and
we subsist on both to fuel our lives,
codependent on words…
we are reliant on the wisdom and musings
some words speak to us,
some shoot directly to the heart and
into the soul,
where they bind with every dream and
hope that we’ve ever had,
while others are merely letters on a
screen, in one eye and out the other,
perhaps just mutterings that we ingest to
convince ourselves that our personal worlds
are not as standard as they seem-
how many of us truly live that wisdom?
the only way to find out is to keep on reading…
until we are the writer behind those random
until we are the ones living the words that
we’ve read, and spoken, and written*
– G. Boston