Today.
To your dismay,
Is still only one day.

The words float wonderfully across the open meadows of dew,
Transforming after each bounce, every green blade aiding the future tense.

Where is she?
The words sing gleefully as they play in the morning sun greeting the new,
Creating in a birds mind for the angels always have wings, their hearts immense.

We have found her!
How is she?
The words dance around her aura, admiring the warmth of the fog, the breath of two,
Imagining only a walking stick next to foot prints, compassionately using sixth sense.

Well, what do you think?
I quite like the sound of her!
Who is she?
The words visit my throat shakra, my hot blood pumps connecting, trusting in you,
Rebirthing poetic love, Meditating towards the peaceful calming lavender incense.

She reminds of someone I know, or knew...
Wow, does she remind you of tink?
We should all be together!
But will she?
The words kiss me good bye, twinkling in my blue eyes, and I bid them adieu,
Reharnessing my self worth, becoming a readied spirit warrior, taking on the intense.

How am I aware?
When did I become aware?
What is aware?

Does a lion know they are a lion?
What do they call themselves?
Does the Zebra know it is only a Zebra?
Does it know it's cause of death is a Lion round the neck?

As it bleeds does it remember it's family?
Does the Lion remember its first ****?
Do the buzzards have an opinion on the situation?
As they argue over dinner do they also debate?
Yes.  

The birds squak " if humans are aware,  why aren't they aware of us?"
The giraffes chime in " why do they pretend our home is a wasteland?"
The monkeys holler "humans build concrete caves to hide from awareness"
The hyenas laugh " what stupid animals!"
The leopard whispers "aren't we all?"

You now that somebody?
Who walks into a room and everybody knows?

You know that someone?
Who always has a smile?

You know that person?
Who is always up for an adventure?

You know those beings?
Where all they want is a better world?

You know that somebody? Someone? Person? Beings?
I know them.

But you know that feeling?
When now all you can say is that you knew them.

Be grateful to say
We were proud to have known them.

I breathe in the cold snap off the morning breeze,
Birds bustling about over head whilst sailing along,
Something creeping carefully through branches with ease,
Wind carrying them in wonder whooshing them along.

The clouds thicken like when I put on a sweater during winter walks,
The trees bending to the wind and surrounding me as I walk the path,
The clouds and I shivering under our jumpers and almost out of our socks,
The trees harboring another natural world up above while I stick to the path.

Something traveling infinitely among upper Earth craving connection,
A musical lullaby rings through my ears reminding to stay on the path,
My mind racing logically and frantically wondering if they will offer me protection,
Does my human mind have more choice then just fight or flight, just stay on the path.

So I spread my arms out as I touch every single leaf with ever single finger,
The trees bending and surrounding me with their worlds colliding on my path,
I feel the morning dew dripping off of my shaking hands
I feel salty serene tears dripping off my pink face onto my path.

Wind whipping forcefully pushing the trees down listening quietly to their moans,
I enter a clearing full of tall dancing grass and head straight to the center,
I lay in corpse pose letting the dew soak through my thin shirt chilling my bones,
I let go of all of the weight on my chest exhaling it out and up towards the center.

The world loves me,
The world loves me not,
Pulling petals off of flowers,
Is a waste of being.

Bongs,*****, and *****.
No ***** given,
Dumb doobies taking a snooze

Only one true love though.
Touching me in heaven,
Making me feel beautiful yo

Society, seclusion, and ceremonies.
No blessings given,
Hippies hang Uno the key

Typos, trends, trumps.
Everything is so intertwined y woven,
I gotta get outta my slump

Only, one, and unto.
The end a *****
For you I do

The surprise of my life.
My lucky # 7,
For my love, my past life.
My universal heaven,
I would take any slated knife

You drive me mad,
mad drives me.

Honesty turned brutal,
brutality towards myself.

The world forever spinning,
rotating round and round the rosey.

Bring it back to the polaroid,
To the ink in our hearts,

To when we were the blue sky,
Warm nights under warm sheets,


                Now we stalk in the cold concrete city,
                Together we roam and trudge through,
                
                Finding moments in between to remember being,
                Breathing in each others scent on the ocean breeze,


Bring it back to the polaroid,
To the ink in our hearts,

To the days that are on their way,
To the years that will begin and end with us.

Sitting in a little coffee shop,
Watching the leaves through the window turn a sharp red,
A bald eagle on a street sign pirched on the tippy top,
I giggle, you don't know how elegant you are my friend,

Sipping on a chestnut latte I feel the fall,
The leaves floating around me soon,
Autumn is a time for hot cocoa, marshmallows and all,
For a first kiss underneath a harvest moon,

I shut the door tight behind me, I hear the wind and rain howling a way.  I close my umbrella and shake it out, getting drops of water on the cheap linoleum floor.  I remove my sopping wet jacket and place it on the wood coat rack.  My rain boots squeaking as I approach the reception desk.  Before I reach her she gestures to the sign that reads: Please Take a Number.  I reach out and grasp the white ticket hanging from the small red contraption underneath the sign.  I let out a slow sigh as I know my number is quite high and won't be called for quite sometime.  I look up and notice the crowded waiting room.  The fluorescent lights flickering for a brief moment.  I spy an empty seat near the window and squeak my way over.  I sit down and get in a comfortable position to watch the storm brew in all it's ugliness.

  The blue eyed boy seated next to me remarks on the weather, he too is dripping wet.  I smile and he agrees that is riveting to watch, lightening flashes illuminating our young, awe-struck, glistening eyes.  They truly meet for a moment, creating more young wonder.  We laugh and talk for hours on end, playing little games, making time fly.  We almost don't want our numbers to ever be called, but the numbers climb higher.  We make friends with the elderly man in plaid, a woman to our left who sits upright with a cat in her lap, and a small fair haired boy across the room.  We never spoke to the boy only made him giggle by making ridiculous faces and crossing our eyes.  

I look at the clock and then back to my companion.  The fluorescent lights flicker and I notice my soul mate has grown wrinkles around his now deep blue eyes.  I touch my own face to feel my own laugh lines, feeling a twinge of pride.  He captures my hand in his and motions to the door.  My number lights up red on a black screen, the screen to left lights up with his number as well.  We get up stiffly and slowly shuffle our way to the door, our hands intertwined tightly in anxiousness.  This moment is what I had forgotten I was waiting for.  I grab the cold, metal handle and turn the **** with my aching hands.  Relieved we no longer must wait, we walk through the door together, into oblivion.

Sitting parked,
Looking in the rear view mirror I see a train,
Your high as ****,
Waiting to be safe and sober,
Hoping that I'm not too much of an idiot,
Listening to radio ****,
But I'm so high doesn't matter, any beat will do,
**** this streetlight suddenly flickers suddenly reflecting,
The cold rain on my damp paper,
It flickers again and the train whistle blows,
Making the pages yellow, sephia, mixed with rain,
Making the words ever so elegant,
Looking out my windshield,
~please flip to side B~
Seeing waves, combined with hard wind and rain,
Making the polluted, sedimentary Fraser River,
Appear like syrup,
A thick, slow, smooth, liquid,
When do I leave this place?
I watch the sky train go by,
Seeing foggy yellow windows illuminating the night,
Imagining myself as a passenger,
Just living life, going about my limited time,
Just doddling along...

The pen is heavier than expected,
dragging on the page,
requiring more effort,
ruining the wondrous beauty of being effortless.

Epicurus beating through my head,
creating The Garden,  I ponder through happiness,
admiring how he can simply be peace of mind,
and how striving to be him feels completely mindless.

Waking up through a coma,
into a nightmare,
questioning reality, dripping with fear,
but ever so slowly becoming fearless.

Because embracing the idea of non-existence,
like you embrace the thought that maybe somebody loves you,
believing in that empty space makes sense,
creating the realm of possible, the realm of love, of senseless.

Language is what links us with anyone, and anything,
human beings merge the world of word with the physical,
so when you are experiencing great pain,
remember you are always in control,  to create the realm of painless.

Sitting in class,
Feeling as dumb as an ***.
Markers and pens all over the place,
A large empty coffee cup to keep up the pace.
Trying to remember and absorb it all,
But I forget and feel so small.

I just want to live,
To get a job I love to thrive.
To impact this world like a seismic wave,
But I'm so tired of working on this road I pave.
Giving in to skipping due to fear of failing,
Ironically forcing me to grasp the railing.

I wonder what it feels like when it comes to an end,
Will it be worth the minutes, hours, and days of stress my friend?

Sitting in a hall way,
In a concrete jungle.

Sitting in the warm yellow light,
Looking out to the cold dark that envelopes the world.

Watching the rain pound, pound, pound down,
Hearing the drops hit the puddles as they grow deeper, and deeper down.

Shivering in the October air,
But refusing to zip up my calf skin jacket.

Thinking back to the days when man wore fur,
And hunted big game in the middle of a frigid winter.

Shamefully thinking of how well domesticated we all are,
Bred to scurry across the Earth in fear.

Resulting into the classic cliche of survival of the fittest,
Lying, stealing, killing, keeping the status quo.

The rain pounds harder, making my bones stiff,
I'm hiding away, I'm low on the food chain.

But what if I changed the game, transform into a big game hunter,
And not through violence, but through love.

Look out for the human race, be the chief, the pack leader,
Be relieved of the boredom that derives from existing.

Why wait for somebody else to step up,
When my time is slipping away like the rainwater dripping off a tree.

I didn't meet you that long ago,
But now the wind knocking rain drops,
From the tree tops,
Sounds like an orchestrated symphony.



But the long love lettered lips,
Tell me that in turn they push onto mine with passion.
Because you have my full and undying attention.

All do to one,
small,

silly,


Fluke.

I step into the beige cold tub,
Turn on the tap to hot,
It sputters for a moment, then bursts onto my skin,
It hurts, but that's what I like.

Steam rises around me,
Capturing me in a cloud,
Taking me away, allowing me to look at my own self,
To ponder all of my life.

Nothing else to think of really,
When all you see are three yellow walls,
And a translucent curtain,  I'm sheltered inside a clear warm bathe bubble,
I think of my love, and my life.

I look down to the water pooling around my toes,
My reflection looks back at me menacingly,
My humanity starring me in the face, each waiting for the other to blink,
Each one of us fighting ourselves until death.

That is our struggle,
To hate ourselves, to hate everyone else,
But still find love, compassion, empathy,
Our urge to survive against our instinct to care.

I let the boiling water fall over my head,
Burning my cheeks, waking me up,
Tears trickling down my whole body,
Feeling alive,

A lonely human standing in a hot shower.

Bundled up in my big blue blanket,
Holding my heavenly hot cocoa,
Simmering as I'm sipping,
Nibbling on my noodles,

I gaze out the window,
Rain, rain, rain,
Grey clouds canvassing the sky,
Water falling creating rivers in the street,

The only thing I vow to accomplish today at all
Is finish season seven of Supernatural.

Drip....
    Drop....
Drip....
    Drop....

The rain starts to sing
My toes catching wet kisses as they stick out from under my shelter.

Pitter Patter,
    Pitter Patter,

The rain picks up,
Using the leaves as cymbals.
The street light becomes a spot light,
The green grass sparkling, twinkling in the night.

Crunch, Crunch,
  Sploosh, Sploosh,

Hooded figures walk past through leafy puddles,
Unknowingly joining the symphony.
Their shadows creating an interpretive dance.

Drip....Pitter Patter....Crunch....Drop....Sploosh
Drip....Pitter Patter....Crunch....Drop....Sploosh

* silent applause

I'm falling down stairs,
                                           Infinite stairs.
                     I'm falling down stairs,
                                            And there is no gravity.
                                   I'm falling down stairs,
                                                    Wait, I'm falling up stairs.
                                           I'm falling down stairs,
                                           I'm terrified and feel my stomach turn.
                                                           I'm falling down stairs,
                                                          I'm blue and purple from head to toe.
                                                                  I'm falling down stairs,
No.
I'm falling in love.

Sitting,
Listening,
Pondering,
Breathing in the clear night,
Basking in the full moon,
Feeling exhaustion.
Drip off of my body,
Feeling the cold nip at my knees,
Gazing up.
My eyes following the lines of constellations,
Taking a moment just to be,
Because there really isn't anything better.

"Do you know who the prime minister of Canada is?"

"Hmmm isn't it Tim Horton?"

Sweating, shivering, and shoveling snow,
Looking up with relief as the flakes begin to slow.

Starting our mornings with pancakes drizzled in gooey sweet syrup
And greasy, cheesy, poutine being our last meal we eat up.

We hike up a green lush mountain just to see the view
And shoot down the slopes of silvery snow and feel as if we flew.

The rascally beavers are our vandals, the loons are our song,
The cougars reminding us that we are strong.

We are Canadian, eh?
But would we really want it any other way?

I am Oolitic Limestone,
Made of tons upon tons of tiny ooids.
Which in turn are made of grains of sand and once beautiful shells.
Held together by a cement of calcite.
All of myself forming from a long life of constant waves,
Rolling along a river bed, collecting as I continue rolling.
I am a sedimentary rock.
Constantly changing, constantly rolling against the warm waves.

Grey skies, golden trees, bitter winds
Mixed with;
Blue skies, fresh scents, and a humid sun.

Old memories, painful scenes, uneasiness
Mixed with;
New discoveries, inspirational moments, and confidence.

I breathe in cold frigid air
And exhale warm clouds.
That is my purpose here.
Accepting instead of rejecting the seasons.
Approaching every moment as a Hedonist.
So I can ring every drop out of the life that I have been graciously given.  
I will not question it.
Why waste time wondering about the existence of a new day?