When life flies by

We can always catch up

With wings of our own.

Just care for the feathers

And let their colors

Grant ambition.

Life won't be able

To escape us then.

We are the fortunate—we have our blood
When we cannot grasp for pens in time.

We are unbothered when blisters form—
They swell and we are the ones who run.

When we cannot use our impassioned voices
We utilize the power of our salient eyes—

Staring into the depths that wish to haunt—
There is still time for idle pleasantries.

We are the armored monsters deemed
Too soft—when we are simply humanity.

There is a softness
In the words

That are whispered
Beyond the shouts

That fill our ears like
Cotton,

Stopping the truth from
Reaching hearts

That beg for
Forgiveness.

We must listen
As close as we can,

Just listen
To anything

That tries to dig
To our very center.

I know I will wait for
Any determined piece.

An unexpected
Crater

Can devastate
Places

Once
Called home.

We can shape
A new life

Right in
The center.

After the smell of rain,
Tears may dry.

The candlelight
May flicker the past
Onto the wall—

A small show that never
Ends,

A strong show within
A storm,

A relief when the
Shadows melt

With the candle wax,
And the rain dims.

Dark cherry rests
Upon the heart left to know

The realness of the world
Beyond open doors,

Beyond the softness of the
Light pouring through

Stained glass.

There is nothing and also
Everything out there

Beyond the familiarity
Of the tartness that sleeps

Within wounds.

Fingers like fiddleheads,

Weak knees like

One-thousand-year-old

Trees,

Justice in a life lived long—

Making the wear and tear

Worth it all.