Silly dreams,
Thoughts of perfection.
No mistakes,
No errors,
Just the perfect dream.
The realization hits me.
It is just a dream.
No more.
Reality hits hard.

The candle burns to the bottom,
Its flame steady yet powerful.
Along the way,
It releases its beautiful scent.
Alas!
It is gone.
The passion,
The beauty,
The fascination.
The wick has burned.
Wonderful while it lasted,
The candle has ended.

I tore a hole in my favorite socks.
It’s a fitting action.
It happened the day of another hole.
One in my heart.
A hole of someone missing.
My favorite.

I can try to replace those socks
With another pair.
One that also brings me joy.
But I will never love them as much as the original;
It will never be the same.

I can try to sew the socks.
But they won’t be as beautiful.
They won’t be the same.
There won’t be that raw beauty.
It will be forced,
A quick fix for a problem that can return.

Why did they have to break?
Was it I that was careless?
Were they not strong enough themselves?
Or maybe both?

I love those socks;
I always will.
I’ll remember the good times I had with them
Before we went our separate ways.
They treated me well while we were together,
And I am grateful for that.
But for now,
I must say goodbye.

Water.
Vital for life,
Yet full of danger.
Many uses.
To live, entertain, cleanse.
And we are so obsessed.

Perhaps it’s due
to the everyday drown.
Take a dive
into a weightless world.
Fully immersed,
Surrounded by the weight.
The inescapable drown.
Believe in safety,
Then drown again.
A constant drown.
A constant weight.
Sinking deeper,
Until there is no other option
But to drown.

Reach the air after.
A mirage,
An illusion.
Just to distract
From yet another drown.

On the surface,
All seems calm.
It begins
As a wave.
On a beach.
A land divided
Between the safe
And the unknown.
It is beautiful,
Carefree.
Interacting, changing,
Steadily increasing,
And breaking.
A healthy wave.
Full of beauty,
Yet the danger lies beneath.

The drown-
A silent struggle.

Raindrops fall,
Collect together.
An overflowing bucket.
The weight is too heavy.
Side view of bucket?
All is well.
Hidden inner buildup
Until the eventual spill
From the weight.

Rain gets heavier-
A blur.
Vision is lost.
Everything is lost.
But maybe,
Just maybe,
Hope remains.

The rain will slow
And continue its cycle.
It is to return,
But cleansing for now.
Carving the path,
Weathering the rock
That blocked.
Healing the dry grass.

A newness fills the air.
A new appreciation
For the times before the rain.
Life and vitality.
Water isn’t wrong-
Just has many uses.
Distrust in water?
A loss of hope.
But yet,
Water is always right.