a poet's heart
is a thing of ink

pigmented with equal parts
hubris and anxiety
rage and hope
passion
and tears

narcissists filled with self loathing

composed of shouts inarticulate
and whispers of intricate craft

our thoughts and words rushing
through us
barely legible

defining our days
with explosions of fathomless obscurity
or flashes of visceral clarity

our nights consumed
in communion with paradise
while teasing secrets from the abyss

couplets and quatrains
providing us the space
to live
or to die

running breathless in free verse
we grasp at perpetuity
yet find ourselves doomed
to ephemeron

like the sky
we are rewritten each day

yet as the sky remains the sky
so do we remain
what we are

pages
in a book we can barely read

remaking and trimming

editing ourselves

to fit within the margins
of our paper souls

I could admire a tree all day long.
Lay me down in arms of the sea.
I would marry all of nature
Carry you in my heart, like a melody,
all the time.
Reaching for your spirit
to stay close by.
At night I look at the darkness
to discover a glow.
The shimmer of a love so fine.
Setting me free…
like a fish in healthy waters
Or a bird in clear blue sky.
I realize that one can never have
or give a hundred percent
it’s not who we are.
But how I love mountains
and the beauty of the olive tree.
How I love Thee.



Shell✨🐚

With spirit ablaze,
To tread, where everyone conspire
My truth, a flame held higher,
Yet branded still a liar.
This path, where doubts transpire,
To reach what hearts desire.
As in ages of old time's fire,
Worth on the pyre, a maiden's trial dire.
The heart's own fire, just water to the pyre,
Yet the world deems us of less significance,
Not much of a crier if you keep your distance,
We've never needed rescue, if the problem wasn't you.