People seated
Row by row
Packed in a tiny aircraft
Is this what it means to be gods?

We’ve tamed machines
And ridden them into the clouds

A woman sleeps
One man snores
Another works
Is this what it means to be majestic?

We hold all this power
Yet we sit in near silence

Anyone who came before
Would have seen this machine in the sky
And worshiped it as holy

But we reside inside
Trying to relax on rock hard cushions

We have tamed the skies and become riders of the sun
We have become warriors

Yet we sit
And snack
On little pretzels
Impatiently waiting
To be mere mortals again

She opens her eyes
She smiles and looks at the clock
Her left hand reaches out
It touches cold sheets

Her smile becomes frozen
Her hazy vision focuses
She sees the ceiling fan rotating
Round and round and round and round
The machinery never ceasing

She notices the sunbeams
Casting light into the room
She follows it’s rays
Onto the left side of the bed

The king sized bed
Sheets half made
One side warm
The other cold

Her fingers come tightly together
As she looks to her left
Her snowy hair delicately strewn

Her eyes well with tears
The silent streams blur her vision
She looks back at the ceiling fan
And blinks away the salty sadness

She lies for a moment
Watching the machine
Continue… going
Round and round and round and round

Gathering her strength
Then suddenly
She swings her legs over the side
And sits up in one fluid motion

She looks at her feet
Old and swollen

She directs her gaze upward
To the wall in front of her

A bookcase stands
Meeting a wall-bound case of trinkets
Pictures and models of memories sit
Carefully placed on the shelf

She stares at the collage of her life
Then at the blank wall behind it

She stares at the paint
It’s been there so long

She hears the whir of the fan
Going round and round and round

She feels the cold air being blown
Onto her thin, bony shoulders
She stares at the blank, white wall

She hears the clicking of her old dog
Trodding down the hall
As it comes to announce its needs

The dog comes in and sits at her feet
It looks expectantly at her
She doesn’t look at it
She looks at the wall

She stares and stares
Then looks at the clock once more
Only seven minutes have passed
But it feels like an eternity

The dog whines
And pushes its nose under her hand

She looks it in the eyes
She sees it’s pain
And she understands it

She stands to go let the dog out
Her bones creak to remind her:
She is old, and unlike the machinery in her ceiling
No oil can fix her pain
No nut and bolt can add to her purpose
No loosened screws can unload her sadness

Her pain is hers to bear
For she is an old woman
With a good life lived and loved

But now she tiredly watches time go by
Laying in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin

Waiting… dreading the day
She will no longer hear the clicking
Of her dog coming to greet her
With a wagging tail and cloudy eyes

Dreading the day that silence will reign
Except for the whir of the ceiling fan

Dreading the day she will be truly alone

A ship sailed
Across the  sea
Looking for it’s final resting place
Looking for peace

The ship sailed
Masts unfurled
While in the waves
It was hurled

Another ship sailed
Across the lake
Looking for it’s final resting place
Hoping for it’s last trip to take

The ship sailed
Gently accelerating
While the lake
Was unmoving

A third ship sailed
Across the bay
Looking for it’s final resting place
Waiting for the end of day

The ship sailed
Proud, was it’s crew
While the sun set
And  the night was new

With a sigh, the sun
Descends below the earth and
Waits for the new morn.

I love myself
and those who love me
but I'm scared it won't last
and I'll find myself in that dark, horrible place again
I'm scared that everything
will disappear and I'll be left alone
>I'M SCARED THAT I WILL BE THE END OF IT<
yet even in the midst of the chaos
i find myself wondering, pondering
the choices, the sacrifices, and the pain
that made up my existence
the knowledge that i once was nothing
but two cells
and before that
mere atoms
                                                yet even then I
                                                       feel I would've known
that i could be loved
that i was loved
that i am loved
             that i will be loved

So I ask
          What is love?
Is it an emotion or more than that?
    Is it a force?
        Is it something we should praise?
            Is it something we should fear?
                Is it why we ARE?
                   Or is it the bane of our suffering?
Knowing that only with love will we be happy, we also know that really only without love can we be miserable.
And really only without the hope of love can we be terrified of        
                                                LIVING?

For it is love that holds us together
                                                        ­    and the lack of it
                                                              ­                         that rips us apart
                                                  It is love
                                                 That fuels
                                      Instinct, Passion, Desire
                                 And their brothers and sisters
                              Work, Selflessness, and Happiness
For even if it is only for ourselves,
                                      we all have love
we all feel its strings
we all long for it's call
------------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------
                           We are terrified if it eludes us
                                             for we know
                                               that to live
                                             without love
                                                is to live
                                                without
    ­                                            meaning

like the money you leave in your jeans
i am washed until i am no longer new
i am thin and easily breakable
yet when you find me,
you are delighted
because i stayed

but i just wish that next time i will completely dissolve
because you will forget me again
like the money in your jeans

The man from the sea
Salty, wind-blown hair
Wood-worn hands from the ships
Eyes to see land along the horizon
Mouth to sing with the voices of the waves
Rocking, iron legs, made for the sea

The man from the trees
Tangled, leaf-filled hair
Calloused hands from climbing
Eyes to see disguises in the branches
Mouth to sing with the melody of the birds
Jumping, strong legs, made for the trees

The man from the sands
Sandy, sun-scorched hair
Nimble hands from the ropes and silky sand
Eyes to see amidst the light from the sun
Mouth to sing with the cat-calls of the burning winds
Moving, steady legs, made for the sands

The man from the grasses
Sweaty, sun-bleached hair
Paper-cut hands from weaving through the blades
Eyes to see danger amidst the weeds
Mouth to sing with the whispers of the rustling stalks
Skipping, quick legs, made for the grasses

The man from the river
Dripping, slicked-back hair
Smooth hands from the flowing water
Eyes to see fish amongst the rocks
Mouth to sing with the sound of flowing river
Slow-moving, quiet legs, made for the river

The man from the mountain
Thick, shadow-covered hair
Hard hands from the heavy stones
Eyes to see distantly from the mountaintop
Mouth to sing with the tumbling rocks
Trodding, stout legs, made for the mountain

The man from the ice
Frozen, ice-cold hair
Blue hands from the frostbite
Eyes to see places where the surface is thin
Mouth to sing with the crackling of the frozen ground
Tip-toeing, careful legs, made for the ice

love is the pitter-patter of rain
on the old cracked concrete
worn from the feet that
walk upon it
love is the silence of the lightning
and the power of the thunder
the way that for just a moment
the world is silent and then
how the earth quakes!
love is the ferocity of a river
knowing that with every turn
you are closer to a waterfall
and the doom that accompanies you over the edge
love is the comfort of another being
because when simply near another you feel you're
not alone in the dreadful toil of life
that maybe, somehow, it was all worth it