Look no further than yourself,
be your own lamp
your own refuge.

The rain washed sky found a mirror in his eyes.

Yet for some time as the end neared
he was hearing an echo
from the deep well of nirvana
urging his weary feet toward a home
his aeons ago.

The frail bones feeling the pull
drove his weary feet through rains
to be on that land one last time.

Look no further
for howsoever long is the journey
must come to an end at home.

That night as he lay under the śāl tree
they strained to hear him whisper

All composite things decay,
strive diligently.

i went left, she stayed right
expecting to meet up
again in time
but sometimes life
isn't quite so kind
we lost each other
in the prime of life

i stayed south, she went north
as we both let out
for a different course
there was something else
knocking at our doors
destiny
of a different sort

she said yes, i thought no
sometimes in life
that's the way it goes
hearts of warmth
with shoulders cold
sometimes in love
you never know

she is there, i am here
the toss of life  
threw off our cares
at the time
it wasn't clear
but we both ended
exactly where

we're meant to be...

We're lights in the middle of the night
luminescent but not all that bright
yet still guiding each other home
A grip in the middle of the cold
strolling tight side by side
won't admit we're lost in the city
Skipping through skid row
I let you take me home
Past Whittier boulevard
towards the old houses
and past my favorite park
where we ran screaming from
the city's heartbeats pounding through the dark

do not get hard
do not let life harden
the beauty of a broken soul is much more lovable than that of a ****** heart

do not get hard
do not let life harden
these trials and trespasses are the water to your seed, don't you see?

go and grow. let your roots turn from ash to soil to stem to life to comfort.
stay soft.

And may everyone you touch run their fingers over your scars with disbelief.
Show them how your painful life is not pitiful, but beautiful.

beautiful.

someone I heard
from the other side of the World
liked late night conversations
Poets being wordsmiths
and words being their currency
I thought I would put her
out of her silent misery
A poetess for sure from what I read
of her work
She can sit back now in her retirement
knowing we will talk about her poetry
and forever try to unpack her thought process
while drinking cocktails and eating sausages