wing beats of doves
tremble the air
with feathered sound

-as they land to feed
and dance
-the cut grass their stand.

On Your Own
Cold walls of ice
Steel in your eyes
Anger in your heart

On your own
Between silent walls
In front of windows of love
Painted on

On your own
On the train of childhood
Who sets the tracks?
Where did they go?

On your own
Without a steady place
No teddy bear
No shoulder

On your own
The view is quiet
So you change it
For the very first time!

You tear down walls of silence
Shatter painted-on windows
So the steel will melt
Anger turns to love

Open your heart
Come into your land
To the cozy place
Deep inside you

I love you
You are precious
No longer on your own
Never alone again!

Speak soft on foreign shores.
When the sands feel unfamiliar
And we are strangers to their law.
Heed the warnings of your clan.
Those who told of troubled waters
Where the oceans meet the land.

Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.

This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.

We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.

Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.

I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times in the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain the ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).

Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings

~
drawn to a twinkling
crown of muted lights

a moment in the waterfront
of your eyes

in between circadian rhythm
and a place called irresistible

there we listen to sun-filled hymns
and children's laughter

not caring what comes after...
~

People crumble
The rest shall follow
I would save them all
But the pain is hard to swallow

Of the life we lost
The dead, the dying, the diseased
Forgotten by us
Just to make ourselves come home
Trying to reconcile
When our hands still shake
When our walls stand firm
Tell me, will we ever be connected?
Even beyond this world
How much have we catered to ourselves?
Twisting and crashing into life
Only for one day
It breaks or creates a future
But right now
I am too blind to see
A future made from disconnection