If you are uncomfortable when you look in the mirror,
keep in mind:
We spent thousands of years
trying to convince the earth
she was flat.

We wrote her maps as evidence of the things we saw;
and she believed them.
She cried tsunamis, and had earthquake breakdowns.

Keep in mind: the Sun never gave up hope.
The earth will keep spinning and breathing
the star-dusty space void of encouragement.

Next time you look in the mirror
and second-guess your potential divinity,
remember you will keep shining and living.

Because the Sun is out there
believing in you,
compensating for lack of the human capacity
to treat each other empathically.

You don’t need proof or approval
to be exactly what you are;
Eventually everyone will see
your infinite beauty.

Music meanders mightily moving my soul seeking songs sung by strings and piano plays purposefully pounding perfectly pretty rhythms running round through thick thought of only one nicely named note.

Who is more creative than our creator ?

Mysterious
All knowing
Merciful
Forgiver
Redeemer
Father
Friend
Giver
Soul healer
Maker
Love and Joy
Peace and patience
Pen and paintbrush
Oh Mr. Cole,
I do not mean to rush,
These words spring forth from a dam,
But the creator of creation
He says "I Am".

sometimes it creeps into the bones in my knees and it gives me artist's arthritis
i massage myself with the dull point of a pencil,
listening to the soothing sound of my thoughts coming to life

and sometimes an idea will crawl into my ear and lay its eggs there
if my passion is warm enough, they are incubated on the inside of my skull and crack open without warning

and to clear my head of the leftover eggshells, i have to play minesweeper for days on end

wond'ring when my days will end
and if my poetry will still be breathing

Candle lights in the room
as a poem is born
dressed in white
shadow on her face
that was adored...

Hearts beating fast
happening in clear view
their gentle faces tear a new
whispering I love you...

It wasn't always easy
this life they had
holding  each others hands
with memories that were true...

With their voices
that filled each night
to their dream
that held them tight....

Life goes by
children grow
age falls around them
tears do flow, laughter too....

Their devotion grows
as one passes on
the pen does flow
a poem is born, just one more time..

Debbie Brooks 2014