I write
from all the corners of my heart.
I write from every chamber,
from every ventricle that pumps the blood
that circulates throughout my soul.
I write
when I am succeeding as a human being
and I write
when I fail,
and sometimes,
I fail on a grand scale,
but at least I write.
I write.

All the silence does not mean
You are alone,
It is the world waiting for you
To listen;
And in the darkness you are
Found by the light
Of your hope.

And in the tears of your
Pain you are born,
There you become stronger
And it creates order.

Pick up your flesh as your spirit
Lifts,
And speak your happiness
As if the tip of your tongue
Was the mountain's peak
Speaking at the sky,
The burden is a caged bird
And only the conscious can set
It free.
And sing to yourself so that
You know you are never alone
In your body.

Know that your crazy is beautiful
Because it makes you YOU,
Wear your skin like
Your cozy blanket and cuddle
In the warmth of yourself.
     You are not broken,
But scattered like the night
With pieces like stars shining,
    Open your pain and yourself
To the wound of the world and heal
Whatever you choose.

Life is Messy

I love you deeply
and greatly
but lately
I'm lost
and floundering
and fooling
myself
that I'm sane
and I try in vain
to straighten my path
and still my wrath,
but alas.
I
have
failed.
I have faltered, my love,
and
I do believe
I have completely
fallen
apart.

Without Love

Where would we be now?
Right here, perhaps.

There's chaos in the streets and confusion in our hearts and fear, oh so much fear.

Too much fear.
There is far too much fear.

We need to find a way-
let everyone have their say.

Love conquers all.
Love brings down walls.

Hate divides
like a disease multiplies.

Love is the cure.
Extend yourself in kindness,
why not?

What have we got to lose
besides our humanity?

And  when  his  usefulness  had  gone.
They  just  cast  him  aside.
And  on  the  final  downhill.
He  began  to  slide.

Rejected  after  all  his  work.
Visions  now  all  gone.
He  knew  full  well  his  time  was  near.
He  knew  he  had  not  long.

As  an  old  man  disillusioned.
And  weary  from  his  fight.
He  spent  in  sad  remembrance.
His  final  lonely  night.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.