at times my mind and heart
forget they like each other
and they forget about my soul
sometimes all together
so i climb the nearest hill
stretch my arms into the sky
and listen as the wind
calls them to my side

my mind responds first
reaching to my chest
and timidly says "sorry"
"i'm sorry i've been stressed"
my heart forgives quickly
and lovingly looks upward
and says "it's no problem"
"i am sorry that you suffered"

hand in hand they turn
and looking deep within
they find my soul hiding
frightened by the din
they point him toward the view
and in the silence he stands tall
and remembers who he is
and how exactly he did fall

and he reaches out his hands
firmly grasping heart and mind
and together they stand strong
on this mountain top we climbed
and now whistling, we walk
from the foothills to the town
for we are ready for the world
i will not let it bring me down

a river of dried blood, flash flood
awakened by the charade
of a pretended perfection, broken
hopes for the future gasp for breath

he claws for a branch, suspended
brittle over the black torrent
as if it could hold the weight
of a thousand years

and, like every final breath,
his last breath
is a breath
out

under sapphire-clouded skies
a subtle stillness settles
quieting an anxious heart
and relieving worldly pressures

breathing in sweet mountain air
our mother's strength fills my lungs
as up the steepest trail i climb
every obstacle is overcome

sunlight's touch warms my face
like father's power, omnipotent
and as my soul sings in praise
vanished is my discontent

if i were to write a love poem
you would be sunset's grace
adorned in vibrant and living fire
and i would write how with you
i feel completely at home
as if you were a canyon's embrace

if i were to write a love poem
you'd be an iridescent songbird
that nests effortlessly in my heart
and i would write of dancing
and fluttering butterfly wings
and rivers that run through my veins
all while singing your name

if i were to write a love poem
you would be the delicate prism
of every wildflower bloom
and i would write of myself
and how i need no one else
but it all would be written for you

he bleeds music
liquid melodies and clotted rhythms
that spurt in pulsating streams
from the open wound
of his beating heart

he lives in the key of b
with a love
that cannot
be freed