Grass roots
     Hear my whisper
And feel my touch
     Skirting soft
           As I trace my hand along
                  The moon kissed curls,

And when a blade
     Catches the round of my finger,
Please,
      Please don't let go.

The top
     Of a Ferris wheel
In the fleeting breeze
     Of the setting summer sun.

I'd let myself
     Burn up in every last sunset
If it meant
     I'd become part of the sky.

What a cruel cycle
     That the cure to
           Suffering
     Is the inevitable shine
           Of beauty.

Would it be better to say
     We are a conglomerate
Of everything we love,
     Or everyone who
          Loves us?

Sometimes,
    When I'm grasping
          For something to say,

I lay on my back
And stare carefully
     At the dizzy dance
Of the ceiling fan's motion,

And think of all the other times
      I longed for the sky to
            Crack,
      The ground to shake,
      The leaves to tell me
             Their secrets,

All the times I yearned
For something,
      Anything,
To come crashing in a
      Passionate heat
      Into my life again.

It feels like
The days pass faster
Than there are sunsets
For me to catch,

Because for so long
    Have I strived
To chase beauty,

But endlessly I seem
    To forget
That perhaps capturing it
Defeats the goal
    Of experiencing it,

So now I find myself
    Like a fly trapped
Between the glass
    And the screen
Of the window to
    Some outside world,

Doomed to burn up
    In my self-generated
Heat, born from the
    Friction of my struggle.