My scars are footprints
pressed in the smooth sand, fading,
salted by the tears of the ocean,
but persistent against the tide.

My map has been drawn
by leaves in the wind, blowing,
following the path of the broken,
but offering no place to hide.

My heart plays a song
with a slow tempo, beating,
calling to the strong souls still hoping,
but unheard by the ones who died.

Follow the footprints if you trace my skin.
Use my map as a guide if I can't let you in.
Listen to my song if words aren't my friend.
And I will love you,
With all that I have left.

I hope they find me
Surrounded by poems that
Are yet unfinished.

It's been an honor. Thank you all for supporting me, teaching me how to be a poet I very much appreciate it but for now I have to be one with the wind.

I'll be back as soon my future is certain, education is as they say the path to all paths.

I love you all

If I told you I loved you today it would mean nothing tomorrow.

Blowing the dust off of old poems, some that were never finished because who wants to listen to love soaked poetry?

Wringing out my thoughts onto paper for someone to read them. Making sure they mean something so someone can feel them.

The world is made up of poetry. Some get the chance to hear it and some have the chance to write it.

Only the lucky ones can feel it. So drift away in my words and hold them tight.

Sit alone and read them at night. Fall into my words and land in my thoughts.

One thing is for sure, we all die. But our words and poetry have a chance to live on.

A Fairy in the garden
Is a sight that will inspire

As she dances in the fish pond
And dries close to the fire

She talks and whispers to the weary plants
Then casts a spell on those hungry ants

The flowers bloom, some bow and weep
As she sends those nasty weeds to sleep

So we can sit out in the sun
And enjoy the fairy work she’s done