Staring holes into the universe
Gazing far beyond our galaxy
Watching acid rain on Venus
Leaving half of my thoughts on distant planets

I've been walking on Triton
I've been circling black holes
And yet, the most beautiful words
Come to my mind when it's empty

Looking for home among distant stars
While Earth's own beauty left its mark
So I'll take my journal and tent
And write down the whispers of this planet
While still embracing its cosmic neighborhood

I will not write of daffodils,
Nor will I praise the rose.
Don't get me wrong - I see their beauty.
I just don't connect to their charm.

Sweet and tender they shine,
Picked, sold, gifted as a treat.
Beauty to look at, easy to get.
I do not want what I haven't got.

Instead, I'll write of sunshine,
Of untamable feral perfection,
Of things that bite
Should you try to claim them.

I'll write of striking composition,
Wilting within our gardened trip,
Yet blooming when undisturbed and wild,
Sharp-edged and stubbornly bright.

I'll write of what my soul needs most,
I'll write of gorse.

Dear Henry,

You never knew me,
But your work transcended
Far beyond Walden Pond.

Two centuries later,
I find your spirit in my words.
I hear the wind through your cabin walls.
I trust that a man in the woods speaks louder than a crowd.

Thank you for being the spark that lit my voice.
You wrote my soul before I was born,
You dared my mind to try.
I'm honored to keep your spirit alive.

When poetry replaces rhetoric,
When soulspeak bridges hearts,
When speech opens perception,
Paradise is near.

When vulnerability needs no armor,
When fear is no longer taught,
When reflection overtakes reflex,
Hope may bloom.

When meaning outshines marketing,
When we raise seekers,
When you don't yet get poetry but try,
You may help carry my fading dreams.

Step zero, the crack of light.
A flicker of doubt in my comfort zone.
For the first time I ask:
Why do I do what they do?

Step one, my wallet speaks.
Every coin, a quiet vote.
Hurt their vulnerable spot:
Profit.

Step two, the test begins.
When it’s cold. When it’s loud.
When the joke’s on me.
When they leave.

Step three, no preaching.
But I tell what I’ve lived.
What it feels like
To look into the world’s mirror
And not flinch.

Step four, I walk in.
With poems in my pockets.
Truth on soft-spoken pages.
They invited the poet,
but the rebel slipped in, too.

Step five, Infiltrate.
You paid the rebel,
You invited the dreamer.
Now start your own step zero.

Forgive me for the silence.
I drifted, lured by the chorus
Of shoulds and musts,
those hymns of the hollow-hearted.
They called it living.
But it led me far from life.

How strange it is,
to meet you again.
Like an old friend in forgotten woods.
The world was loud without you.
Empty, though full of noise.

Come, soul.
Let me see the places that hurt.
Let me sit beside your bruises.
I won't leave again.
Not this time.

There may have been other places
Where my heart fell in love.
But there is only one place
Where my heart, soul and mind connect.

Can only feel around the Lochs,
Can only think in endless glens,
Can only love sleeping on Munros.
Can only write when all connects.

My heart is broken,
My mind is craving,
My soul is crying
When I have to leave again.

Some day I will not leave,
I'll stay with the ones I love.
And when I die among the hills,
My ashes shall mingle with Caledonia.