Once again, pragmatic droning of newscasters
juxtapose against the bomb Blasts
of another war Ringing around the world
in undulating ripples of potential risks.

As always, my thoughts Blast to you.

I, helpless to effect peace in the warring world,
will rather chime for you
soft ringing bells of loving wishes…
Wishful these, my caring thoughts,
could hold the power to assure that you
& all wrapped close inside your heart
would Remain safe,
that peace might e’er surround you
as a soft bed for your soul.
Through these bomb blasts
& their undulating ripples
of potential risks they would bring
I ring…
no, I Blast, my love & care to you…
Stay safe!

I’m in a drought for time— yet flooded with ideas.
as the sun rises with the dust, and by dusk, all hope
feels spent, or quietly scattered.

I know destiny calls— even without a map, signal
or a location marked. "Yeah, I don’t know what
I’m doing," I often confess, in quotation marks—
still walking toward the shape of who I’m meant
to become.

Pushing through bruises and bitter slights—real joy
flickers, but most smiles still feel perfectly rehearsed.
To stay above the arrows, but never ahead of myself—
sharp enough, still, to pierce through the soft fabric
of my many, many daily doubts. And I’m learning:
sometimes the cage has no door— but only the illusion
of one, built from fear.

There’s always a world just outside of it— waiting.
We’re all just finding ourselves day by day.
And life? It’s one day after another— until, finally,
you recognize the person you've been becoming
all along.

I’m trying to find a way back to me,
to undo some choice in my history  
when I took the wrong turn,
propelled down the wrong road.
Somewhere the me that was meant to be  
Turned into an alternate (missing) reality.
Yet, searching the map of my life I’m blind.
Which choice was not right, I can’t find
Or rather I can’t determine
at what point I should have deciphered the way.
When & where was lost
that stronger & happier me,
the “she” who I want to be?

Though, does all this questioning matter?  
It’s been a one-way street for so long.
Reverses & turns could just splatter
the good. Those I love would be gone.
Illusions, delusions, beacons of hope?
They’re all but a fevered dream to cope
Or a glow that spotlights how lonely the day
Yet, I continue this pondering to say:  
Is there hope for THIS life to be true?
(Could I ever find another like you?)