Wildly the time flies
Moments passing in a flash
People and places never staying
Even when you wish whey would.

Quickly hope ensues
That maybe they can stay
Stay near, young, and innocent
Never changing from who they were

Then despair crashes
And releases that hope
Because people change and grow
And maybe leave you behind to move

Softly longing creeps
Into your lonely heart
Grips you mind and stays
Vowing never to let you forget

The past and how things were then
When all was perfect and true
Two hearts combined to one
Shattering the peace

Poetry lies intermingled
Tangled recognition, interpretation
Drawn meaning like syringe
Conceptual life,
Intellectual dream.

Walking, swimming, fighting,
Forest branches weaving
Filling air, with wooden breath
Growing standing
Still and strong

Wise beards ferns green
Brown coffee time and maturity
Professor, interpreter
Language ciphening
Hourglass ideas.

Sifting sorting exalting dropping
Sliding through grasps of
Clasps of minds.
Grip and resignation
Trains and tracks
Lay directing paths for feet
That fly and touch not ground nor map

Atmosphere, time, space
Wind, water, sand
Scrunched paper words
Crushed branches pasted ingrained
Elements

Nature is poet
Words in the sky that fills our lungs
Breathing as filtered light –
We become,

Complete.

"I hate being a pessimist."

I am off again.
Off to enjoy the dead livings
of old civilization.
If you wish
you will find me in the woods
up to my neck in mud and sweat:
smiling.
I will pan for gold
at the banks of untouched river runs
and the bottom of gushing waterfalls.
I will hunt
beautiful beasts
with black coats and empty bellies from a winters sleep.
I'll sit huddled around fire
that dances in an iron bellied stove
warming my hands and drying my rain soaked feet.
I have no wish to leave this kind of life.
I will return with heart uplifted by accomplishment
and my hands covered in scars.
I will have made my mark on the land
the hawks circling above for the creatures smoked out by the fire in my lungs.