I dropped a plate and it didn't break,
A silent triumph, a fleeting shake.
It danced mid-air, defied its fate,
And settled gently, as if to wait.

In that moment, fragile yet strong,
A whispered lesson, a gentle song.
Life's little stumbles, we might fear,
But not all falls end in a tear.

Sometimes, against the odds we face,
We find resilience, we find grace.
In shattered moments, hope can glow,
A plate unbroken, seeds of courage sow.

In the realm of skies and fleece,
The weather dances wild and free.
The sun shines bright, the rain does pour,
Changing moods forevermore.

Yet there stands the humble wether,
In pasture fields, through all weather.
Calm and steady, in the breeze,
Amidst the storm, amidst the peace.

When lightning strikes and thunder roars,
The weather shows its fearsome force.
But still, the wether stands its ground,
With silent strength, without a sound.

The weather shifts with every day,
A symphony in nature's play.
The wether, though, remains the same,
A steadfast soul, without acclaim.

Both weather and wether teach us well,
Of life's great ebb and flow to tell.
In ever-changing skies and land,
Find balance, grace, and understand.

For in the world of earth and sky,
We learn to live, we learn to try.
Like weather's whim and wether's grace,
We face our storms, we find our place.

Every day I had to dig through
deeply rooted malignancies
and clusters of phosphorescent spider eggs and webs full of
dead flies draped throughout a
long-abandoned domain
once inhabited
                    by my mind

the roots pushed and
twisted their way through
thick walls of the
foundations and membranes
of spirit mind and body
where I didn't even know
how to feel, all I knew is
that I had crossed unseen
         no trespassing signs

in life among the living
I lived as though I were dead
In the midst of vast human knowledge I held
        vast emptiness instead

This lack of substance was
all that was left in my mind
I found myself trying to buy
back more of what I
had to
          leave behind

my mind and spirit were in lockdown; in this death I
began to die. when I was
high I felt let down;
     in the truth I saw a lie.

the dawn of each new day
filled the sky with hues of a
darker light. since all of
the windows were barred
       and boarded-up

the only way I could see
glimpses of a brighter
light or others living life
were through any thin
little cracks I could find

like an addict trying to
avoid their addiction
each new day and every
waking hour I would find
myself learning what I was
        losing my mind
        trying to forget

I was so sick and tired of
     d . . . always going down.
          o
        w
           n

truth only strengthened
         this neurotic depression

but in the throes of pain and breakdown I found hope in
a New Day. when I was lost
in the cycles of confusion
I at least found pieces of
peace and pieces of mind
        along the way

when I die with the sun in
the midst of the evening
I now find enough faith
   to believe I will
            rise with it again

when I seem to have lost
all of my chances I clutch desperately to any strand
     of a chance to begin

saving what's left of my mind
buying what used to be mine.

a drop of rain upon a leaf
our lives flow slowly down

so amaphorous and brief
we make our way to ground

as we hang on to the end
of the blade we've found

we cannot on this place depend
so slip off without a sound

~~~

the blade of grass we clung to
hears the soft refrain

of the drip, it's music
it's leaf could not sustain

but it can't feel sorry
for the soil needs the rain.


soulsurvivor
(c) january 23, 2016

I wrote this on my birthdays
A while back. Thanks for reading.