You can’t paint the Sistine Chapel with a roller
You can’t carve The Thinker with a jack hammer
You can’t write a symphony on a Kazoo
And you can’t dance Swan Lake on a trampoline

You can’t bake a cake if you have no oven
You can’t sew a gown with a knitting needle
You can’t build a house out of Lego Bricks
And you can’t win at Lotto without buying a ticket

Why do my eyes not notice the humming bird
Only that the nectar tube needs refilling
Why do I not glory in a field of orange poppies
Only struggle to walk without stepping on one

Why do I pass up small kudus when offered
So I can wallow some more in rejection
Why do I long so for the glow of acceptance
When I have no use for the face in the mirror

We all have to work with the gifts we are given
Talent is not something you can go out and buy
You can’t sigh your way into winning the race
And you can’t coerce people into your fan club

You have to dig deep if you want to find oil
You have to cast bait if you want the big fish
You have to believe that the war can be won
To put down your pen and ******* your sword
           ljm

a patient
who counting his days
Seeing the rain
he went out to feel
the bliss of existence...

Dressed in all my brightest colors
               Why am I so blue
Surrounded by excited, happy people
               Why do I so need to cry.
                                  ljm

In a dry and barren desert,
in a stark and lonely land;
I searched for ample shade,
and touched its friendly hand.
In the canopy of cottonwoods,
in the coolness of its leaves;
I hid from pouring rain,
as it wet my sleeves.
In the vastness of a canyon,
I marveled at its sight;
and slowly headed back,
at the coming of the night.
In the dark and velvet evening,
I looked up and kissed the stars;
stood staring at the moon -
a world away from cars.
On an island in the sky,
I gazed at brown-scorched earth;
the diversity of nature's child,
the variety of its birth.

I stopped to look
the evening sky
above the emerald sea
was welling red
as though
it was still burning
with desire
portending:
' it's too early
for me to retire'

it was speaking
to me
in mystery
I could hear its voice
in the solemn moaning
of the passing wind:

'beauty and its glory
must not die--its hour
is not yet. I am still light
and won't surrender
in haste to the night

feel me, touch me
hold me, be with me
if you will, write me
a poem, compose me
a song, take me along
in your heart
paint me in colours
of passion and love
I am your muse
your inspiration
your heart's delight
embrace me
as a lover
and remember
I'll return
I fade but never die'

was I dreaming?

but there was I
and there was the sky

she allows the raindrops to get their way with her. they’re allowed to touch her in any way they please, running from angle to angle, tracing her curves like no human ever could. and then, when they’re done, they soak into her skin, down to the bone.

her feet dance, almost involuntarily, to the beating drum of God’s thunder. He knows how to play, He knows how to get her to move, in heart and by feet. she’s always loved the rhythm of any drum, but this one, from the sky, was much more special.

I think that she connected with the storm so well, because there was one raging inside her as well.