We follow some stupid rules and still not enough.
What does it really take?
We do what it needs to be done and still lose.
It doesn't matter, do your part or not the outcome is still the same.
Saint or not still lose…
Even when the storm calms there it is, another tempest.
How much can our wooden ship withstand?
Sometimes i think it's better to let go and let the stream lure
me to the sea's bottom.
Relief...
But if someone get's used to struggle, just moving through the motions
eventually won't give up won't succumb.
Let the tide ride up and you get drowned.
Ride the tide and let it guide you. Lower your ship and reach your destination.
There are times the road back to the port goes through the heart
of the storm. Unclench your fingers from the wheel and then
wish the sea is with your side. If your hands hold tight to
the wheel, it's a lost cause. Maybe destination it's not the place you direct but the place you abut.
Like a key which unlocks what is most hidden...

A youthful stretch of the legs
in the orchard with shallow
rolling hills and long grass

Strolling with an old
WICKER BASKET
collecting apples & berries

Gentle breezes push the
tall grass to and fro
as the sunrays encircle me

I day dream of fresh pies
crafted by loving hands
made by mother nature.

Some write for a hobby just,
Me? I write because I must.
Writing to me is a need
As to life the need to breathe.

You have not seen me until you have seen me as I see myself
You have not seen me until you see me as I trace my hand over the stretch marks that climb the sides of my torso like veins that squeeze me
You have not seen me until you see me as my eyes become dimmer as I look at the discoloration of my sides
You have not seen me until you see every scar, bruise, and scratch that plagues my thighs and arms
You have not seen me until you have watched my body give in and breakdown because the image I see staring back at myself is one of broken glass, broken dreams, broken memories

You have not seen me until you understand that I am not a towering temple with battle scars and broken beauty marks

I am a shell of lost spirit and soul
I am a body, torn apart apart by hatred and rotten words

You have not seen me

I wonder how many books you've read on creativity.
Have they made nearly as much sense as your writing does to me?
(In that case, it's probably not very many.)
I often wonder what it is that makes one poet better than another at poetry.
Is it something in the ability to let go?
To feel free to type wildly regardless of judgement/ego/typos?

I doubt it.

You see, I shared so much with you,
I expected all the things that I liked
to be tarnished by your touch,
ruined by your absence,
broken by your memory.
But they aren’t.
The moon still glows over me like I’m her only child
and she never noticed your hand
entwined with mine.
The stars still smile shyly at me every night,
and they don’t whisper your name.
Everything I once was,
I still am.
I haven’t lost any pieces
and the places we went to
don’t carry your footsteps,
they don’t haunt me.
They just exist.
I still remember.
But that doesn’t change anything.
I kingdom built with strong bricks and love
doesn’t get blown down
by the wind passing through.

Stare into the eyes of the wolf.
Which do you see,
The predator or the lamb?
Which do you love?
Which do you fear?
They are the same, but they fight for space in the flicker of the iris,
the flash of the teeth,
the curve of the brow.
Which will win out? Neither. Both.
Is it a fight if you can't win or lose?
If twin souls, displayed against an infinite canvas,
never run out of room
but never quite fill up as much as the other?
Which do you hate?
Which do you ignore?
I dare you to stare and not be intrigued.
It may be possible to look and not see,
But we are drawn to wars and dances alike.
You know, you
can tell which is which
When you squint
Clench your jaw
There's a difference
A purpose behind each half.
The wolf you can find
Out of the goodness of the lamb
The lamb you can find
From the hatred of the wolf
Or is it switched?
When one soul is tied to another
The colors start to blend
And the mix is not reversible
So I ask again,
Which do you love?
Which do you fear?
Love the lamb. Fear the wolf.
Fear the lamb. Love the wolf.

Make your choice.