The moment you forget.
Mind wanders with regret.
Eyes blurred, lose focus.
“What’s my current purpose?”

Is spontaneous enough?
Chasing a dream, tough.
As a child we rushed,
what was all the fuss?

The lost moment finds.
The lost moment unwinds.
The lost moment reminds.
Messes with our minds.

In that moment there is clarity.
We connect with our reality.
Understand humanity.
Endless possibilities.
Test our comfortability.

A chance to breathe.
Rebirth and see.
Are we where
we want to be?

Take that lost moment,
to reset your focus.
To find yourself and
your new found purpose.

Não sou, nem sei se quero
Ser ou saber.
O dia não é comigo e só o sinto a ele
Notando que não há muito que sentir
Nem com que o fazer
Não sou nada. Respiro
E penso e sinto e não sou mas sei
Não sabendo nada, sei
Nem me assusto por isto
Num planeta vazio cheio de luz
Num dia cinzento e vazio
Em que vivo em contradições
Sem saber se vivo sequer. Se sou.
Não sou. Não sou nada.

Running fast in the middle of the corn,
the little maid held a red maple leaf
as she began to sing:
,, For golden Autumn I do not morn,
but for the blackberries that perished of grief,,

Her hair of marigold in the wind swung
and her cheeks were bright and rosy
when she once again in her silvery voice sung :
,, Oh October, month of gold,
how beautiful sights you give me to see ,,

Alas, the sun soon started to set behind the hill
and made her smile to slowly fade
when, from the woodland, the wind gave her a chill:
,, Little maid, leave October's canvas of art
and go home before nightfall freezes your fragile little heart  ,,

if you ever need to
remember who you are
just start with the basics
something simple
your favorite color
is blue
just like the ocean
it reminds you
just like the tides,
you have highs and lows
but can always reach
the shore.
salt will wash
into your wounds
but the rays of sun
will cleanse you,
as the sun sets
and rises.
you will adjust your sails
when the wind blows
in the opposite direction
that you wanted,
you are strong
and fierce
like the waves
that crash and never
fail to let their sound
be heard.

Is growing up realizing that the monster is not under your bed,  but is instead lying right next to you?

Your body is your home.
You wouldn't tell someone their home is too big or too small,
The ceilings too short or too tall
The wallpaper, skin, too old, wrinkled, crumpled and peeling or not the right tone.
The frame and foundation of bones connecting,
Some with clean cut marble perfection, some with broken bits and Floorboard splits.
But you wouldn't tell someone their home is too old or too new.
The value of the pipes, veins, visible in clenched fists.  The arch of an eyebrow or the shape of the roof, a scar or tattoo.  
You take care of your home because your life is here.
Inescapable, a cage within your ribcage.  
You hope and pray that if you take care of it then it will take care of you, Shelter you.
You wouldn't burn your own home.  Cut, scrape or bruise the stars locked On one side of your eyelids, your windows.  Who knows which side?
Your body is your home.  It is the only place you will ever truly be able to call home, the only thing that you will ever truly own.

.
Time is teasing along with lush earth so pleasing,
The minutes of our youth are spent in toiled days
And sands are blowing the weld of our sold means,
Foundations of dust, the cries unheard, of the aged.

And then, as dream, you came from the starry skies
Blue and small as the ocean dot, forever fixed—
Reigning over the frozen, revolving moon that lies,
Dimly wakes in your fabled orbit, my fated ellipse.

Now, time tables and splits, renders me to eaves
Undone, my squandered youth was but a sad play
And I am clocked with wind, the geld of my dreams,
Had shiftless hands been more solid than my days.