I won't say I'm bipolar because I'm
permanently enduring unstable.

A heart that beat
in tempered time
but skipped-

tripped up
and fell on you.

A poet writes upon the heart
and sings among the shining stars,
each scribble painting portraits vast
as each mind hums and wanders past
their secret dreams and battle scars,
and turns thoughts into glorious art.

Lord, raise my hands and guide my feet,
let me another pathway meet.
Conceal my pain and break my fast,
Lord, light the dark that eats my past.
And when I trip, Lord, help me stand;
pray, hold me in your loving hand.
Have mercy on my faithless heart
and show me kindness as I start
to walk the way you've made for me;
release my chains, Lord, set me free.

Grown adults can act
like poor, sad, childish bullies
sat behind a screen.

Deep and earthy scents,
moss pillows and tree-root beds,
rocks my stable base.

Gentle breezes, kiss
my face and promise peace, and
whisper me to sleep.

Water gently laps
against my feet and now I
know that I'm at peace.

Your apathy walks atop my broken faith with
nonchalant animosity.

We care more about
aesthetic obsession than
matters of the heart.