Ever sit for hours, staring at the waves?
Until the sun sets, and the moon shines on the water.
But the moon doesn't shine. It just blocks out the sun.
No phone vibrations, no messages,
And you're too tired to reach out.
Realization hits like a wall of water,
Tumbling in a powerful grip
A cold shock seizes your muscles.
No one notices a ghost on the docks,
a problem that's drifted beyond the horizon
Maybe one day, the waves will calm,
But for now, you're pulled under,
Disoriented,
With saltwater stinging your eyes.
Fillings your lungs.
Into the depths of solitude.
I don't know if you'll survive,
But the waves are so beautiful.

These thoughts of you,
are like the smallest pebble to the grandest mountain,
everything holds a certain value, contributing to
the intricacies of this existence.

And there must have been
an unpleasant disturbance in my heart; as if a pebble
was thrown in my eye’s still waters- causing many ripples.

Oh, it’s perfectly strange;
not quickly recognizing your own tears
anymore;- some people do cry better in the rain.

To witness the subtlety of change
in all things that breathe

To grow in this new delicate rain
and spring's easy breeze

To be the colour of water
when it's finally set free

Within his own image my brother searched for the Sun, but he could not stare directly into its rays and instead headed into the desert in search of water.

During the night the desert sat still and shimmered like the fourth hour of life after birth, enfolding and unfolding in an eternal ripple induced by the juice of the cacti tree. The days took there toll on his mind as he drank the juice of the cacti tree and chanted the song of Sun-Lam in order to ward away the lost spirits of the desert, those who saw the Sun's rays but did not believe we created God in the Sun's image. The Sun became a mirror of the dunes and many trees sprouted in the distance before my brother's eyes, situated at a mesmeric oasis, a blessing for his faith and resilience.

"Do not cross my path, for I am a tree that grows without water!" Thus spoke an etheric voice tangled in the mystery of the sand dunes. My brother stopped upon hearing the voice and fell to his knees, then fell onto his stomach, and finally rolled onto his back, burnt by the Sun, but crowned, so to speak, by a cresent Moon. There he died.

Many months later I found him before the tree that had spoken to him, finally at peace. His ******* were rock hard due to the dry heat and I did not bury him as the tree forbade it. Instead I was ushered towards the oasis, for I had not chanted the song of Sun-Lam during my journey and therefore I was not permitted to give my brother a proper burial.

At the oasis I danced and ate such delightful fruit on the banks of the fresh springs, and although my brother had died, and had never found the water that would connect him to God— the true God who dances within the eyes of those who stare into the Sun— at night I could see him smiling down upon me from the stars, so happy was he to see me upon the water's edge.

Come nebbia,
Nebbia sparsa

Che divien acqua,
Poi torrente,
E poi per sempre

E forte e rapida e turbolenta
Cui vien la vita, la gioia, i colori

Il nostro scopo é
Ma non era niente

no sound.
when you're drowning there's nothing
but endless, unlimited space,
a bottomless vacuum of thought.
from water we come into the world;
its shallow, yet tight embrace
accompanies us till we're nothing
again.
no strings to be bound,
no sound
and no pain.

I need the rain.

Hard,
broken,
dessicated limbs hang
low and heavy
like twin pendulums
of shattered lead.

I need the storm

Cold,
cracking,
drained roots coil
notted and gnarled
like a cage
of sun bleached bone.

I need the flood.

Dark,
engulfing,
suffocated leaves wither
rusted and dying
like an endlessness
of time-ground sand.

I need the void.

Like mist, sparse,

becoming water,
and then a river,
and going forever

(and strong and fast and turbulent
growing life and joy and colors)

Our purpose is,
and was never.

This wasn't the train. It scooped you up to a different destination. Birds of splendor followed along
Out the window
Winding in your path of grief. Be ready for the station waiting
To greet your sorrow.

The platform is not clear. The mist hides the light then becomes a flow of water you can reach and touch. Become aware of the grief but don't move towards it. See it instead in the palm of your hand. Dip into the water cupped in your hands to cleanse your sorrow.

You will have times of freedom. Embrace all feelings. Let them fall into the stream of water. You will lighten. You will see more color as the mist dissappears.

You will see the light between the leaves of the trees. The sounds of song birds lifting you up with messages for you alone.