Don’t fear the mirror
open your eyes
look past the disguise

Don’t fear the past
open your eyes
quit reliving for then

Don’t fear the present
open your eyes
this is your time now

Don’t fear the future
open your eyes
look forward to change

You may have nothing but kind words
But I
Still shudder away at the intrusive suspicion
That I must study your cadence
For any inflection
To find a truth
That caters to
My worst imagination

Snow whispers as it falls
gently filling mountain halls
Does it ever speak or see
as it crowns the autumn tree?

Snow whispers as it flies
when it dots the feathered skies
Can you hear its soulful cries?
for it weeps when spring arrives

A dusty shelf made of wood
That reaches way up high
Lined with every kind of book
Collected as years went by
Stories written to entertain
To swell the beating heart
To inspire the complacent
To create a change
Or make a fresh new start
Magical stories of fantasy fiction
Biographies and poetic prose
Classic tales by Charles Dickens
Filling up all of the rows
But one sits on a cluttered desk
About the mysteries of Heaven
Set apart from the rest
Opened to page seven

Commonness of the flowers  -
virtuous insignificance,
invoking visions of royalty
for ants, and snails, and such,

How trivially contests mankind,
what costumes their children wear,
while, silently, a bulbous sun
sidles across the sky.

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

O might those sighs and tears return again
Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent,
That I might in this holy discontent
Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain;
In mine Idolatry what showers of rain
Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent!
That sufferance was my sin; now I repent;
‘Cause I did suffer I must suffer pain.
Th’ hydropic drunkard, and night-scouting thief,
The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud
Have the remembrance of past joys for relief
Of comming ills. To (poor) me is allowed
No ease; for long, yet vehement grief hath been
Th’ effect and cause, the punishment and sin.