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The happiest of people
don't have the best of everything;
they make the best of everything.
One has two choices in Life:

accept conditions just as they are
or
accept the responsibility of attempting to alter them.
Wanderer Jun 2015
What an amazing day
For those who are Gay
A milestone long over due
Equality is universal
Should not be treated as adversal
We ALL should be happy for you
NO one should ever have the power to tell you who you can and cannot love, nor should they be ALLOWED (for that is what happened for so long) to make the decision on whether or not your ties to them are "legal". I am extremely happy for my LGBT friends who at long last can tie the knot and be recognized, as is EVERY human's right.
Wanderer Jun 2015
Let's go back*
Those drawn out mornings of soft light and even softer touches
Sparkling dust motes floating mid-air
A vision of perfection twisted in love drenched sheets
I could stay in bed all day
Just listening to you breathe
Wanderer Jun 2015
There is no ancient living here
No holy
Just the only
Sparking flies of fire twinkling against twilight
I breathe in the exhaled breath of late spring
Feeling full but light all in the same motion
New moon cast no shadow here but I can still see her's
Outlined by star shine the gravitational pull of the divine
That lies within us all
The rains keep falling so that the air is tangible
A dancing partner when I thought I was alone
Feet fall in squishy patterns against grass that should still be forest
I hear their call, the wildlings
Wolf howl. Dove Coo. The slithery slither of night time creatures.
Spinning in circles through the darkness
Wishing I could but take their form for a moment and run free
Break apart from the day to day pressure
Of what is expected of me
Focus on the fire fly dance
Just keep spinning
  Jun 2015 Wanderer
SG Holter
Raindrops raining rings
On coffee cup surface.
Too wet to care,
I remain seated on the slab
Of concrete

By the containers.
Oil and filth creep into fresh
Cuts and scratches.
I ignore my hands itching,
Drink and exhale.

I could be a millionaire
Throwing cash at the shadows of
My emptiness, or a holy man
Preparing for Tukdam with
Nothing but his robes to

His name. Anything but this
In-between existence devided
Between too much work and
Not enough free time or sleep.
What am I doing here, should

Be the last words they'd watch
Me think. The concrete won't
Answer. The coffee won't comfort
My restlessness.
But the rain replies:

You're living.
"And what are you doing here?"  
I counter.

*Raining.
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