people see me as
a million different people
but I am not them
I am me

To be loved is not a virtue
To be hated is not a sin

A thing is a thing, isn’t a thing
What makes a thing, a thing?
Is a thing, a thing because
We call it
A thing?

What then of things that
Haven’t found a name?
Does discovery make
A thing?
Then who made us
A thing
Can a thing
Make a thing a thing?

Light is a thing
I see it
Fragrance is a thing
I smell it
Music is a thing
I hear it

Dark is a thing
No thing
Is not having a thing make
A thing?
is a no thing, a thing?

Is
Love
A thing?

“stranger”
that’s a curious word
new people
aren’t really strange
they sparkle
unblemished by memory

soon enough
a faint falter
a clink in the armor
A speck of brown in
your ocean blue eyes

slowly at first
the cracks began to grow
rust rose to the surface
like the way age paints the sea

there was no breaking moment
just gentle tapping
once pristine edges
smooth from rust

before me
no longer was
a shiny person
uncovered was
a beautiful rusty person

Asleep and
quite untouched
A breath soft
But a cloth
My contribution
to the loft

Nothing stops time
It was no opposer
Time always moves on

In books
Lessons, time moves on
Stories, time storms past
Man, time ignores
Deities, time dismisses

In books
Pages keep turning
Time passes through

Time was one foe
It’s thin
And unsuspecting
But it stops time
in its tracks
Where time is
so unstoppable

A bookmark

Pieces, pieces, pieces
colorful or dull
sharp or soft
intricate or simple

all the same
all want to fit
few fit with all
all fit with few

Oh, to be the few
to fit with all
I fit with few
like many of you