Sleep came to me 4 times this morn’,
even though torture awakened me
after a short time, betwixt.
A blessing compared to days before.
Severely psychically attacked
while my soul stood strong.
There but for Thee’s grace go I.

My father a tank, a beat down for hours,
I 1 3/4, wasn't speaking yet, wouldn't
'til 3, he wouldn't stop knocking me out,
each time I'd awake, immediately stand,
never cry a tear, I knew better
and something's very wrong with him.
I couldn't hate then and would never.

Non-humancentricity, how to be, all life
are needed threads in life’s fabric,
that cannot be allowed to be torn
asunder, walking within nature’s balance,
giving back to it’s abundance,
is not only sage advise,
it’s required for earthly life.

He hasn't buried the baby within
but today he buried the ashes of his baby
crying like a baby
as the river devoured the bone dusts
and all the remnants
of the cuddles and kisses
hollowing him to remember
the guest of his blood
that would feed on his grief
for the rest of his life.

Exigency replacing humanity,
merchants, only for more
through to mercs for unending
unneccessary war.
C'est tres facile pour la machine,
addictive personality disorder
replacing human being,
c'est la unvie, no?

Oligarchic vacuum-up being almost
always on only leaves a trickle down,
only, when it's accidentally turned off.  
So the interlocking, laced economic
systems base, scarcity, that they think
they've replaced nature's abundance with,
details violence in all hues of all colors
of the rainbow, not just choosing to not know.

An addiction, like any other,
that can be treated just so.
When one weeds the garden within,
turns the inside out, a ray of Thee's Light
without, And within, it doubling,
doubles again outside, Bliss begins,
peace on wing sings, Soulshine
shared on and on, evolves life, echoing.

To be or not to be
That's me.
Love is my God
Peace is my sword.
Love all
That's my first and last call
To be here or there
I don't care
Spread love
Embrace nature
Love is my culture.
To be or not to be
That's the way we should be.

There’s a bird perched on a tree high above me
He’s singing,
Singing is what he does best.
As he’s singing, I try to sing along
And I’m waiting for affirmation
I’m wanting to know
If I’m singing this song right,
Or if I’m singing it wrong.
It’s his song, not mine
& he’ll sing it all he wants to.
The bird has taken off, and I’m chasing him,
I am running so fast and so far
I’ve finally found him.
He was tired of the buckeye tree
So he perched himself on a Cactus.
I asked him, “What’s so special about a cactus?
Come back to the Buckeye Tree!”
But the bird just started singing his song again.
So I sing with him.
Now I have a new song that I want to show him.
I want him to sing my song with me.
So I started singing it,
But he’s not singing along,
Just his own song.
The seasons have just changed.
His feet are sore from that thorny Cactus
& he’s about to take flight again.
Maybe now he’ll want the buckeye tree
So he’ll be at home with me.
There he goes, he’s flying away!
So I’m running as fast as I can
I’m trying to catch up
But this isn’t the way
This is isn’t the way I remember,
The way to the Buckeye tree.
The bird is perched on a Palm tree.
I am tired, weary, and out of breath.
“A Palm tree! Why a Palm tree?
You are a Cardinal!
What did you fly away for anyway?
Come back to the Buckeye tree!
Be at home with me.”
But no.
The bird just began singing his song.
I am done trying to sing along.
It’s his song, not mine.

you think that everything
is under control

that you have planned with care
and great consideration

then suddenly
some miscommunication
plus incidental elements

throw in a solid wrench
that reveals
how fragile
the strands of finely woven plans
will always be

Frozen in daylight
Molten in glaciers
Loving is living
Beyond wildest adaptations
Flabbergasted in the fray
Of messy, mixed emotions
Face deep in downfall
Of kins' precautions..