They talk so often of it
that they forget,
it's Consistency over quantity
that leads you to it.

This is not a poem.
This is an outcry.
Enough is Enough.

A meadow
    is more than
       a blade of grass
          but make no mistake
           that meadow
          would not be
        the same
without it.

Beginnings are found
   in vacant silhouettes
   and a need
  
to stifle the chill.

So starts the
   Rampart, a fortification
   of one’s heart.

But though the
   barricade may comfort
   with impenetrable walls.

What’s inside will starve
   If never allowed out.

It’s a clever find,
   putting doorways on
   the passages of mind.

To find a way out
   without letting
   the Heat out.

But while outside,
   playing amongst Wonders,
remember, so too
   exist Blunders.

And to they,
   in a door unblocked
   there is no delay

Watch them follow
   you home, a scheme
   to let the Heat out.

So comes the latch
   to protect and preserve.

You may leave, a
   few times at first,
   without caution or dread

To find shock on return,
    a pathway ajar.
You see, Blunders are clever
    they can pick and can pull

For each Blunder
   needs a latch,
   specific to the last.

Before long avoiding
   Blunder leads to
   a collection of protection

And a maze on one's heart
  can be more complete
  than any rampart.

Remember that when
   you fear the chill,
though latches may
   seem to be key,
It's making peace with Blunder
   that is the path to Wonder.

"Excuse me?"

and
  a flash
   is all it takes
    to shunt the flow

-Don't

         but a moment's hesitation
        fails to arrest the flood
     and for a moment
it feels good

   as something
             Authentic
                     boils over.
                                                           ­                 It's Boiling Over

                                      I'm slipping.
      
You're talking
                                          Unheard
    
Sounds
      Choked by
            the Runaway

"Are you ok?"

and
  a flash
    is all it takes
      to shunt the flow

"I need a moment"
"Oh... ok."

and then
Quiet.

"I... I should probably go..."
"yea, it's ok. I'm ok."
"I'll text later"

following promise,
termination's tone

as canvas
becomes foreign

-you're dissociating

Words of fixtures
turn to foreshadows

             -You're dissociating

Thoughts segregate


                            -You're Dissociating


good faith
and isolation
give safety to a tear

and
  a flash
    is all it takes
      to allow a Flood.

Everybody knows
    the meaning of a rose.
        The bud,
            the bloom
        The wilt,
            it's doom

It's as if flower's grace
    lives only in a vase
But it's only the cut
    that bloom to depart

A rose isn't in bud,
    not petal,
        nor thorn
A rose is a Bush
    from root,
        past stem
Those crimson hues
    atop shapes in green
        are just a product

    A moment in time

The whole is what matters
    Not metaphors in tatters

The severed may droop
                like you've finished the loop
            but all you've done
        is cut stem from root
    and in doing so
Only killed fruit.

Tracing edges,
seeking frame.
Emerging sight
adores symmetry.

Perfection lives
in outlines drawn
at first light.

But transparent forms
held together
with Razor seams

are frangible

.

How it hurts at first,
to see the cracks.

Looking honestly,
passing glass
and into gaps.

Find yourself where
sketches fall away
and translucency
gives to accuracy.

Because beauty
doesn’t live in
vacant forms.

It shatters borders
while it screams

to be Seen.