she’s not allowed to care anymore
but she can’t help the dent
that became a valley
before she was able to recognize and trace
every sharp edge and every flat surface
every sudden drop and slow crack
with her fingertips, covering
it will take time
but the real question is
will
she
try?

Some days I can't write
I won't write. takes
too much heart
too much sacrifice
too much sorting through places of  my mind
I swore I'd let alone, leave be

let me be
leave me be
alone

then,
no.
Fight. Alone is dangerous

alone is an open door
alone is locking yourself in with a dragon
so I will pick up first,
my heart
then my courage
then my fingers

though cut up
and open
bleeding rivers

I will then pick up my pen
and write.

there is still so much more I need to tell you.

Somewhere stuck between the line bordering
faith and reality,
there is a girl.

A girl to whom
there is no such thing
as five thirty in the morning.
There are only beginnings,
fresh grass, and
mugs of hot chocolate.
She doesn’t seem to know
what it means to drag your feet
or to
lifelessly slide your toothbrush’s bristles
against the cracks and crevices of your teeth,
wishing you were already at the end of the day
when it had only just begun.

To her,
every printed word is spoken.
She can hear the pages breathe and her heart sings whenever
another character enters,
because for her it means
one more person
to love
which is something
she never seems to run out of.

It is why her eyes dance
and roses grow ‘round her face,
it is why gladness
pours out from her fingers as they
glide across ivory keys,
it is why she sprinkles her words with salt,
why she refuses to let her city on a hill grow dim,
why she believes that death
is a new beginning,
why her hope never wavers,
why she won’t stop giving and
giving and
giving.

Her faith shakes mountains, but sometimes,
only the mountains know it because she
gets frustrated, too.
I’m here to tell her that she
may not see it now,
but the seeds have been growing in places
she didn’t think possible.

So continue to plant them
with thrill and with wonder,
as you live each day like
it was the first.
Don’t stop the water’s flow,
and soon you will find yourself
laughing at Doubt’s face,
I don’t think you’ve ever seen
Doubt’s face.

You’ve been alive
for three hundred
and sixty five days more,
but if growing up means
losing the fireworks in your eyes
and the beautiful thoughts
that sprout from your mind
then,
I beg of you,

don’t.

By: Sverre G. Holter & Digital Asylum*

I|

I am a man. I was put on
Earth to bleed from my hands.
Work is my virtue. I only sleep well
If I'm exhausted.
Your food and shelter is my gain.
My sweat is the salt on our table.

II|

I *am a man, but also child
with a paper-mache heart and
sandcastle dreams, a child wishing
for later tides while we play
splashing in and out of the waves
but the tide always comes,
and castles crumble, and we
we tell ourselves that there's no need for fear
because we will build stronger walls
tomorrow

III|

Today is our day though
Let us work at love.
Let us play with love.
Let us dance until our feet
Blister and we collapse
Laughing into each other's arms in equal fatigue.
All I want is you.
All I have is you.
All I've never lost is love.
It is our costliest toy;
Unbroken

IV|

Unbroken it may be for now
yet the time will come, as with all good things
where life and love will come to its bitter end
our lives will have ran their course
and in that moment, we will know and be known
we will laugh our last laugh
we will drink and be merry
knowing we loved and were loved
and as the water comes washing in
we still stand behind walls of sand
and we will face the tide together

*unafraid

free internet 24-hour
Johnny Cash radio station
-all day long
the general listens-
plasma tv on the wall
silent bombs in Gaza
orange blossom specials
-they need plasma, don't they-
burn, burn, burn
-Cry, Cry, Cry-

r ~ 7/29/14

Symphony of shells
Quartz pebble accompaniment
Gull solo to wind sound
Waves whisper-singing in mid-lantic
Come away, come away
Come to momma
Now

r ~ 7/17/14

1695

There is a solitude of space
A solitude of sea
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be
Compared with that profounder site
That polar privacy
A soul admitted to itself—
Finite infinity.

Throwing words
like tossed pebbles
at his window
in the clouds-

no one home
but the rain
and the wind
that blew once-

once for you-
I threw pebbles
at the clouds
just for you.

r ~ 7/10/14