There is no tomorrow where
there is no yesterday.
We all came from somewhere
and we're all going away.
Forever is a long time
that encompasses the past
Forever keeps on going,
no matter what won't last.
How can you hate the rainfall
yet love what it may grow,
or hide out from the light
in spite of what that light may show.
The future holds more of the same,
don't even play pretend-
joy and pain walk hand in hand
only the dead have seen the end.

We all come from somewhere,
every acorn has its tree.
The past may not be pretty,
but it's part of who we be.

my self most intimate,
unspoiled,
keeping every scar alive,
albeit cloaked in metaphors
like bandages of silk
that hide the oozing;
my self most raw and
un-defiled,
unguarded,
revealed in phrases
composed to ponder
with your time;
is here in lines of poems
playing like a child in the trees,
like a game of hide and seek
a breeze may help you win.
but to find me
you must read between my lines.