She moves through the fair of her life
with an awareness and introspection that belies her years

She still feels the effects of the darkness that plagued her past
but, as she goes forth, reaches with her soul towards a new and enlightened age

She will not forget her suffering, but uses it to transform her spirit
as an alchemist uses the philosopher's stone to produce precious from base

She is a rebel at heart, but hers is a cultural revolution, an awakening to the beauty of a spiritual life filled with music, art, poetry, language, philosophy, and the science of nature

Transformation isn't instantaneous and her emotions will still go medieval at times suddenly rising like a Gothic spire from the landscape

However, with each contrasting experience she is reborn and better equipped to fashion a belle époque of her own design

She may tend to shun the glamour of convention and develop a unique style
She just wants you to know who she is

She will lose herself in a book
and find herself in poetry

She thinks that religion is a sacrilege
and that long showers are sacred

She makes love when she's tired
and never tires of making love

She is irreverent in her humor
and pious in her gravity

She is diligent in completing her work
and ambitious of her quest for leisure

She is the personification of romanticism
and the embodiment of compassion

She exists harmoniously in my mind

that we exist
that we are whole
that we are worthy
that we are accepted
that we are respected
that we are connected
that we are appreciated
that we are of consequence

that we even matter at all...

I will be like a tree to you
neath whose shade you lie
as the days pull you down
and my branches long for
the pull of your weight-
the only kind I will allow
to pull me down.

Painless is the way
I shed my leaves for you,
die a slow death
all for your love for a golden autumn,
and again I come back to life for you,
because winter is a lonely business.

Your faith in my hold
is strengthened over these glad years,
unbreakable perhaps,
like how my roots are interwoven
into your ribs.

My poetry is eternal for you,
growing each day
and when you cut me open,
the rings will tell you of the years
I bled for you.

I will be a tree to you,
your very own Eden,
and the day I die,
I hope my roots reach out to you
when the time comes for you to
marry into the earth.

Only a vehement storm
can put me down.

At times it all fails
to make any type
of worthy sense
at all.

Watch the talking heads
talk about false
events and never question
this reality.

The lies flow like
***** undrinkable
water out of a
rusty unusable pipe.

That turtle I seen on Alma
street wasn't a turtle at all.
It was a tire.

The mind finds ways to accept
these unbelievable truths.
Even when your soul curses
your decisions
and your heart cracks in
zig-zag patterns as
you ingest more
and exhale the soot
of your experience.

Scrape away all that remains
of yesterday in hopes
of creating a better
tomorrow.

Make your own path
past the
justly stricken suffering
souls who bought into the
lie and now dance among
the angry dogs.  
Plenty of riches blind
the fools,only
one true eye controls
them all.

Make the first move
in this
war they have waged
against our reality.
Hold true
to that questioning voice
inside your head and run
towards the front,
while screaming
questions about
it all.

you seem to not want anything to do with us
you only seem interested in the girl you trying to impress
you told me you loved me
you said not to leave you and I promised
you say I wasn't telling the truth
it seems you were the one telling lies
you where the one pretending
is everything true now?
is everything true to you?

I'm feeling strange today
like im losing too much strength
Im tired most of the day
I want to stay home and sleep
morning time comes and out comes my dinner
last night I couldn't sleep kept tossing and turning
so I go across the street to get buy something
I take it and a + comes up nice and pink like
should I tell edan
should I tell my husband
or should I keep it secret and let him find out
my life is going to plan its self
soon I'm going to have a bundle of joy
and soon the beauty will come from within
tears fall as I imagine the bundle smile at me
and I want to tell him but its hard to imagine his emotions
but he will have to wait
I have more to worry about than his immaturity
I love him and our bundle growing within me

ylva sat on a tree limb and began to think, 'could I be as my mother was?' strong and beautiful her hair grows long and brown. Her mother lost from the cancer of breast, the sun rises in the west. the colors blend so well that ylva thinks its a dream as soon as she sees her mother as her reflection. she does not know that she is a slitting image of her mother and her father cast her aside as if she was a broken doll toy. young and heavy with child she searches for a place to have her child. the sky was filled with the clear blue. at the sky's request the clouds shaped into stormy grey, as she just sat under a bridge. the bridge was old, worn and seemed to have nothing on it underside. it was the whitest she had ever seen, and she knew that the other side was a beautiful brown bronze color. somethings never seem to change as she listened to all the cars go by. "young lady," a woman was saying something to her, " young lady, what are you doing under there." she had long grey hair and her eyes were the color of a green snake skin, beautiful but scary. yet the unforgiving storm pushed its way towards their spot. the woman took the young lady to a parenting home, for single parents without a house to live in. she said, "Have your child here, and if its ment to be you will find me once again." As the young lady went into labor she couldn't think of anything but saving her child. when the baby was born, it was a beautiful little girl, and she called her Lillian. she grew up and her mother died, same way her grandma did, and Lillian knew that one day she would die too.

Glorified pebbles
lie mingled
with tainted rocks
that met blood and flesh
of both tragedy
and a natural tide
that gilded the shore with starfish
and in the ghastly before
laced it with metal
stones
that were cloned and pressed into tubes
and riddled over
the worn shore beach
as the daylight aided
the mixture of
sweat
and
salt-water
before the now
when it gently warms
the arrival of those forgetting
and the ghosts of those remembered.