My
hopes and
dreams float on
the calm surface,
weighing me down,
You have left;
my buoyancy,
my ribs,
my gunwales,
my oars.


Leaving me to the rough
waters of life.

Poetic Minds
Draw blinds
to block out what they need most

Though most
Tend to boast
their priceless collection of light bulbs

One thousand words do not sum up a picture
They merely tell a story,
Poetry, if you must

Failure brings Beginnings
Success brings Endings
Failure Brings Success
in turn
be ready to die

We prize our lovely
and beautiful flowers
....................................
the butterflies
use
     them
         as
landing
                  pads
                    ...

Deep in the
pits of the earth
lies a cage
Expanding and contracting with
time, it holds your deepest darkest ambitions
yearning to be free
to poison the hearts of many,
break the souls of all
darkness and life combined
thriving
in the
shadows
of life

Wild are the winds who greet you
Happy are the smiles that meet you
Lovely are the skies above you
In the land of the free.

Every brick tells a story
of hardship and love,
the possibilities, endless
in the land not crossed.

The stars singing out the unbroken hymn of glory
from the skies abound, commemorating
the lives lost, bringing forth a new era.

The sea our brother,
the sky our neighbour,
everything else,
in between,
Our hands,
a beacon of faith,
outshining the most worthy successors.
...
Fly the flag
Of love,
Of trust,
Of freedom,
Of compassion,


Fly the flag,

Of Canada.

Wind rushing past my merciless eyes,
My wings beating out an undying tone
soaring ever so higher as the clouds fall away
and stars replace my view,
Leaving nothing but blackness
to fill the void in my heart.
My lips bend up in an inhuman manner
as I look beneath me.

Only to realize
that there is
a long way down
to fall.

Scales
like dragon's
fake,
powerful
balancing reality
never truly tipping to either
side
until the end
final or repetitive
(that's still being decided)
waiting for the nonexistent support to crumble
to stay destroyed
to rise again
Ending Forever
or
Rising
Again

A picture is worth one thousand words.
Poetry paints that picture

Strings spinning with ease
wood calloused and bruised
hands flickering over
flinging memories to the breeze
...
Gray hair flying
blue eyes lying,
though nothing disturbs her
her loom still spurs
...
As old as time
she flows with the dawn
the machine creaks in protest
she moves steadily on
...
Weaving the fabric of life
though she does not know it
cutting away the strife
she pulls with lasting wit
...
Her eyes shining
machine wining
she slowly fades away
welcome the newfound day
...
Her loom still bear
living without a care
still creaking its unfound tune
Though still spinning out dreams
to join the streams
of life
...
Her smile still wanders
through the clouds

You are not perfect because there is nothing wrong with you
You are perfect because I see past your imperfections
Perfect imperfections
Imperfect Perfections
Same but different
In their own ways