A late lark twitters from the quiet skies;
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, grey city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.

The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze.  The spires
Shine, and are changed.  In the valley
Shadows rise.  The lark sings on.  The sun,
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.

So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing,
Let me be gathered to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.

these are not Truths
-these inner workings- these vulnerable selves-
integrated with what is, was, might have been, will be, could be-
half the story is never even told-
she keeps on writing-

Cold Mirage
on Earth's pinnacle
uncovering truth
follow the arrow

You are song,
Rain dropping on still pond.
You are sky,
I see Heaven in your eyes.
Your are peace,
A garden above the world.
Your are grace,
The gentle path of the swan.
You are knowing,
The wind that whispers alone.
You are star shine,
The dust that lights the plains.
You are vast ocean,
Mother to the Fathering atmosphere.
You are dancing light  .  .  .

i. Soft, pink petals drift in circles on the lazy breeze.
Birds sing as they chase each other across the blue sky.
Sharp, green blades of grass tickle the back of my neck.
The sun is bright, so I keep my eyes closed.
Winter has fled in the face of a glorious spring.

ii. A sad girl with a beautiful smile shares this room with me.
Her life is made of empty fun, empty loves, and empty bottles.
She paints her face to cover the darkness around her eyes.
But concealer can't succeed in hiding the darkness in them.

iii. You can't call someone else irresponsible when you act like you do. When you can count your empty glasses, you can try again.

iv. Floating in the clear, cold water, with the sun beating down on my face, I escape. I have no worries, no distractions, no obligations. I let the scalding rays burn freckles into my nose. I let the waves spill into my eyes. I have no cares. I am infinite.

v. A word of advice to the male type of human: licking your lips at a passing girl doesn't make you attractive. It makes her want to take a shower. Alone.

vi. It's 4:13 and I'm still awake. I haven't been doing anything but staring at the ceiling since midnight. Why is it that in the dark, everything seems more real? 4:15..