Petite arctic terns
navigate the sky
on epic migration
wings clocking
45,000 miles each year

it seems they know
how to go
with the flow
by thumbing a lift
on atmospheric airways

that crisscross the planet
adding thousands of
seemingly needless miles
to an already
arduous journey

flocks congregate
in open ocean
to rest and fuel up
on fish and krill
for the last push home

these tenacious birds
understand
the cliché
it's all about
the journey

they synchronize
with invisible currents
because to beat
into the wind
is a futile expenditure

they pause
in community
to re-energize and feed
on unfathomable
bounty

four ounces
of feather
and hollow bone
instinctively holds
these truths

there is much
to be learned
from an
arctic
tern.

The torture chamber painted
thick with red, white and black
fully contains artifacts different
unimaginable kind each one is.

Pain indeed was the tap root
from which art sprouts, says the poet
all the secrets of the heart, hidden deep
for which a heavy price is paid
throughout life, sing and dance
spin a fine yarn, tell an unforgettable tale

Life is like a caterpillar's metamorphosis into a butterfly.

As the caterpillar weaves it's cocoon, it just knows it's a part of its life to do so. No questions asked.

As we build our walls up with time, we just know it's a part of our lives to do so. No questions asked.

The caterpillar stays in for many, many days, not knowing what awaits it when it finally breaks free.

We stay behind the walls for a long, long time, not knowing what awaits us when we finally tear them down.

The caterpillar patiently waits for it's time to come. And when it does, it realises what freedom it has attained after all the time it spent in the darkness.

We wait for a long time, but sometimes we feel like we can't wait any longer and just want to end the darkness. We feel claustrophobic in there.

When claustrophobia hits, don't be afraid to let out a tiny little cry, just loud enough for someone passing by to hear. Use all your strength that's been piling up inside you. Someone that truly cares about the little details, is going to have a second look and find the place that the sound is coming from. They won't tear down your walls, instead they'll find a little escape hole and crawl in to help you tear them down yourself.

But sometimes it so happens, that the caterpillar just doesn't emerge and the cocoon is still as ever. No matter for how long you wait, it just doesn't break through.

If you see that happening, just make it a point to let every other caterpillar you know, that it's okay to let out a little cry when suffocation approaches. Tell them they don't have to be afraid.

Tell them you'll always find a way to help them tear down their walls<3

Racing, quickly, moving swiftly..
I touch your soul
you touch mine
Like a book you've read before
you know my lines
I know yours
there's a meeting of the minds
that lets me know you're my kind
of man that can understand
the way I am --
Yes, the way I am --
It feels like a galaxy of stars
rushing in on planet Mars
an ecstasy of bliss
I've never felt like this
before
You see...
it was always one night stands
shadows out the door
I know it won't happen anymore
Racing, quickly, moving, swiftly
a meeting of the minds
now I know that you're my kind
a man that understands
keeping up with me
doesn't come so easily
yet you do it
with so much style...
I think I'll hang out...
for awhile.

when I was five and life was a song of
excitement and innocence
the world was full of mystery
and I had never felt
the pain of hurt or loss of
any kind    and then
one day
a playmate pushed me right off the swing
you picked me up   brushed me off
   told me not to cry
‘mommy,’ I said,
‘it hurts’

when I was sixteen and in love for the  first time
to a young Cuban girl I felt like
    an adult doing adult things
dates and kissing and groping
and late-night phone calls with the
cord stretched and twisted through the house
and under my door    and then
one day
she left me for another teenage crush
and I felt world-ending
anguish  burning, hot, consuming
as only a teenager can feel them
you held me close
   told me I’d be ok
‘but mom,’ said I,
‘it hurts.’

when I was thirty-five at the end of my marriage
holding on to it with desperate and futile hands
trying to be a good father to my sons
who put me on a pedestal high enough
to rival the gods
I fought depression
and anger
even as I felt co-dependent longing
for the woman who was
  breaking my heart
there at the end of that marriage
one day
you held your grandchildren
and me
   and told us we’d be ok
‘mom,’ I said
   ‘it hurts.’
  
when I was thirty-eight and dying
from the cancer eating  my body
  repulsed by
the very sight of my
shriveled and sunken body with
chemotherapy eyes set deep
deep inside my skull
and scars on my body finally
making me as ugly in life as I felt inside
I despaired and I grieved
the loss of innocence
in my children and the burden
on my new girlfriend
one day
you sat by my bedside
and held my hand,
  told me the kids
and I
were stronger than I knew
‘but mom’ I said, looking
at their pictures,
‘it hurts.’

when I was forty and strong again,
recovered from cancer
and from divorce
my scars a badge of character and honor
with a beautiful new bride by my side
a new life to live
and a new daughter to love
that day
  you lay in a hospital bed
clinging desperately to life
     machines to monitor
tubes to breath
nurses to care and
doctors to treat
I held your hand, like you always held mine,
  alongside
your daughter (my sister) and
your other son (my brother)
as you breathed your last
even as I
   sobbed at your passing
and fell into the arms of my wife and siblings
I wondered
  selfishly
who now will hold me like you did
like only you could
because oh god, mom
it hurts.

You may write me down
In your twisted memories and thoughts
Like a history!
Tie me to the sadness
As I chase myself..
Into the wildness of love