To think we are living the history of our future –
how does today look years from now?

It is as they say:
Tomorrow is a new day
Yesterday has gone away
Today may show you the way.

Life’s joys:
with poise,
do handle the noise.

The question remains:
do we sleep away the nights of our mornings?

Sunshine of daytime no longer,
I seek you ever stronger.

The moon shines pale –
My thoughts run endlessly, to no avail.

Sleepless dreams meant to swoon,
Sunlight streaming from the moon.  

The trance of night, a daydream
Stargazing the lights of night.

The bright of night, surely should cause no fright.

aflame in its entirety, everything around me aglow
blinded by the light, i have lost my way
i lay cowering to these fiery embers
fearful of life-long scars

i have been consumed.
trapped, drowning in this hole of fire.

if calming was as simple as yawning
of this fire, that is spawning
only slowly is it dawning;
yet solely gnawing.

“everything is burning again”
indeed it surely is.

Complexion of free-flowing colors; multitudes one moment; shining formations the next.
Bright the sunlight of high-noon.
Water, how universally eclectic.

And it was thus,
on this laden breeze,
I was brought to the lightest of ease.


What need is there to seek,
When it is all prevalent, here, under the blue of this waterfall.
Streaming pristine mosaics of iridescent green.
Right here, I wish to lay in mirror-glass cure complexions.  

Mingling fingers among the pebbles, I marvel.
This quarry of my mind.
Nature at best and mostly green, I guess.

Of this I wish to bring to you,
Or you to it.
Whomever it is that you might be.

A land, however far away.
Happiness, the ultimate goal.

I surely need no intervention, for
The pathless trail lies clear, suitably
Ahead of me.  

Bringing power to those obscure;
The life of this beauty –
What isn’t there to love?

Oft is it compared, a sky of gray, and a day of drear.
It is with these muted colors that bring me the utmost of joys.
Perhaps it is your ashen qualities spawning somber, sullen feelings.
I repent, for this most assuredly won’t be made about you.
On the loose:

The life of a snowflake,
A wintered rain,
Frozen tentacles of a symmetrical dream,
Gone with the wind,
Heaven, fallen to earth.
Perhaps it is that I wish the sky to be falling
unto me
in a star-stricken
phantasy.

There it lay, abandoned for all to see.
In the dead of night, I have come to seek;
reveling in the unadorned beauty of
a little red wagon.

The gleam of the water reflected from the stifled red;
the splendor of the day, uniformly admired;
the brimming moon, spilling light unto us.
Amidst all, the sand, the shore, the path;
the little red wagon.

The beauty of simplicity,
all captured in the directness
of a wagon
perhaps forgotten.

The little red wagon,
glorious in nearly every which way.
Thank you for the splendor of night,
shining furtively upon your handle.
I shall now part ways.
For it is that I now see the many paths that yet
lie untrodden.
Floating midst the sea of sand and the stars of night was quite simply
a little red wagon.

The stark whiteness of the earth surprised me. The path, alluring; among the birches of the North.

I find myself lost in the frosty, crisp air. I see now; everything is so clear. What hints of love before, multiplied tenfold. This is how I want to live.

The life of the trails, shown only to those who use them. Walking amid the dormant trees of winter, I grow lost in the allurement of it all.

Traveling on the wind, joy is brought throughout. Amassed in piles, accumulated on evergreens, nestling its way on your path.

Winter has brought change to this world; no more are the commanding reds and oranges of fall; instead we face the brisk whiteness of felicity.

Ever does my mind lie resting, among the groves of birch-colored white. Yearning, for a solitude of a longed for companionship among the trees of the North.