Wet grass sticking to
My feet running contently
Through fresh trampled fields

Walk on by,
They scream and moan,
Their faith they loan,
And still I try

Where does it go,
That childish sense of wonder?
When does it return,
That sense of adventure?
We can sit for hours,
Reading stories and watching mindless television,
But why is it that we no longer imagine?

The sugar glider sits perched on my shoulder,

Chirping soft songs in my ear,

Each new syllable making me warmer,

Taking with it my fear.

Though quick I may move,

Still there she sits.

What have I to prove?

"Nothing more" She admits.

A quick sigh of relief,

I take us to the room.

Sitting there an emphatic sloth bearing teeth,

Smiling feeling no doom.

"How goes your day?"

He asks the purring cat and chirping glider,

"And wont you please stay?"

Both nod to agree hardly saying a word.

The time passes quiet,

Till slowly the sloth leaves,

"Stay here while breakfast I get"

As we concur wider more his smile weaves.



I cross my paws in front of me,

And lay my head down to relax.

The glider crawls slow into my neck,

Taking joy from the warmth she collects.

So soft her movements they comfort you see,

The sweetest of lullabies her touch.

"Anything better has never been dreamed,

So simple a thing is so much!"

Enter the sloth with morsels in hand,

The sleepy scene he permits.

He puts on some music to help us two rest,

Of this he never laments.



Dreary eyed we wake the cat and the glider,

Purring and stretching the same.

Never more happy that to wake up beside her,

Those moments they keep me so sane.

Words fall,
And flow,
And falter.

"Who am I?",
We oh so often,
Wonder.

A frail container,
Waiting to,
Be washed again.

But who am I,
To say that you'll,
Be free my friend?

Fading into the night,
My eyes are tired,
But my mind rests,
A torrent of thought,
Wave after wave crashing with,
Full of such beauty,
A soft resound,
A chorus

Cast the crass stone,
The day fades into,
Where I've been to,
Of past and of pestilence,
To plague my mind till,
Days of rain sustain,
That numbing absence hurts,
Of burning faults I burst,
Imploding on myself,
Taking with me,
All in vain,
That last shred of health,
Those lasting of my folly,
I cringe again

To sit in fear of the world,
Is to sit idly by,
Offering nothing to the day,
Though taking nothing all the same.

To sit in ignorance of your fear,
Is to pass blindly by who you are,
Offering nothing to yourself,
And taking nothing all the same.

To act in knowledge of your fear,
That is to be enlightened,
To take what you need from life,
And from yourself all the same.

A man sits alone in the dark,
Asking nothing of the world,
"Again," he weeps,
"All I love turns to gold.", he smiles,
"Afar sits a person,
As lovely as the stars in the sky."
Around the bend sits a girl,
As lovely as all the world,
Asking only to be loved,
And she is.