In a book I opened
on page twenty three
I came upon a pressed flower and
wondered,
was it for me?

The book was printed, eighteen ninety five
I guess
the flower was alive back then and
so
it wasn't for me.

I wonder who placed it
between pages twenty three and four and
why did they put it there?
who was it for?

Sad,
looking upon the dead rose
thinking about those,
and did the book close on them,
did the rose
speak of love
back then?

do you know what it feels like
not to belong?

the mind is aching,
searching for a place
to call home,
where you get tucked in at night
and finally get some sleep

a place
to feel free,
where you can dance in the rain
and laugh in the pale moonlight

but the thing you refuse
to believe

you reject
in the depths of your heart

is the search
will never stop.

He asked how life was going,
I said, "I couldn't ask for more.
I love my job, my friends and family,
Always smiling, how about yours?"
He said, "Well, I got fired,
I guess I'm always late.
And my wife just left me stranded,
When she caught me on a date."

And as we sat there reflecting,
On how things have become,
He looked at me and stated,
"You sure have some good luck."
And at first, yes, I agreed.
"Yeah, good luck, I'm sure that's it.
But wait, isn't luck,
Just an outcome brought by chance?"

And if it's all up to luck,
Why bother working hard,
To finish all your goals?
In fact, why even start?
When it comes to all my "luck,"
Oh, it is no accident.
Every single move I make,
Is done with intent.

I am living on purpose,
I am acting with cause,
All the good things that happen,
Only happen because,
My decisions are precise,
And they all insist,
On bringing me nothing,
But complete happiness.

Life doesn't have to be,
"Take what you get."
Decide what you want,
And go running after it