I believe that
givers never quit
because they wish
their generosity would be
reciprocated.
Never waiting for payback.
Only hoping that the taker
may become a giver
for someone else.

Explore more
wander more
wonder more.
All we ever do is wish for more.

Will we ever feel we have enough
when you're the abundance you adore?

You need nothing.
Never more.

Crescendos and arpeggios alleviate the pressing
of residual enfilades of harmonies created,
raising the frequencies of thee.
.
Primordially placing seeds in the fertile heath
wandering with Orion's lead.
Sirius B'eing chronically appealing.
.
Our tranquility will rely on the apogees of the moon
and the crescendos of our eternal music.
A belaying maestro raising our moods with diction.

writing writing
spelling spell'ing
boil boil
toil and trouble
because
to pop the picture
in the bubble
"image'jinn"
cursed be the language spoken
nature has no definition
no words can define me
simply be*ing beings
within eternity

Thunder rolled offshore
by the dancing light horizon.

I sat quietly on a wicker chair.

Through the boring pouring
on that somber, humid morning
open seas were surly churning
the fathoms of the mind.

I creaked atop that wicker chair.

Facetiously; I was grieving.
Though in fact I was not leaving
the waves did seem appealing.

I spent the daze careening
on that rickety wicker chair.

Life is
a fantastically dramatic
roller coaster
in a dream.
Where all of the thrills
and feared centrifuges
are only in our minds.

We're not only raising children
we're responsible for the nurturing
of the souls of our universe, heaven.

The universal souls of our brethren.
We've been entrusted with overseeing the development of divinity.
A delicate job to say the least.

Foresee the
vicarious,
foreboding
fables;

Rain clouds
over drought.

Otherwise,
we'll be as ants
undermined
by a downpour.

I try to recognize
the pain in the eyes
of my brethren.
I sympathize
to realize
the humanity
and to notice
the humility
surrounding me.
The strength I see
is more powerful
than conceit can be.
Yet we're deceived.
Solidarity we seek;
Although we're taught
to be divided and weak.
I try to recognize
there're no dead
in the eyes of our Mother.
As I search
the stars of our Father
I find no better truth;
We're as one for eternity!
Certainly empathy
is our truest direction!
We're more powerful
than deceit!

enticing syllable dribble
writing with written scribble
for a fickle sedation
for imagination
to run wildebeest
over the heart

With bountiful botanical seedlings
surrounded by vital emeralds of evergreen.

Hark! Twas the season's change!

In the midst of the morning might
I notice the humble sage.

Within the rains.

Daybreak seemed
more dreamy
than the last.

A soft coo
echoed
in the crisp
pooling illusion.

How I reveled in the brisk elation.
How I longed to be in the mist.

Hands were tingling from the heat of a cup.

The door was ajar.
The plans were on the table.

Dreary, the months past December...
...now so easily forgotten.

An interesting paradox
we revel daily.
Ornate additives
subconsciously sedate.

Rather the latter
let nature belay.
Raise and ride higher
in a most righteous way.

Majesty of creation
surrounds you today.
Revel it autonomously
and realize your strength.

Only when we learn
of the sins of the world
can we take responsibility
for them.

A glimmering sunrise
set to blaze open
the rolling grey clouds
.
A candor in quiescence
over breakfast
.
What's more to
marveling the horizon's
light from parting haze?
.
The soft, lapping waves
rolling in the distance
.
By a candle lit
candor
over breakfast

I usually have the same awe struck wonder
every time I'm immersed in nature.
A grandiose moment to capture,
surrounded by the gigantic architects of life
seasoned with the peppering of cyclical torrents.
The ballistic mist that envelops the cascade,
today; the same, I sat quite steadily.
What I found within the wonder and awe
was a belonging
an abode.

Calm
the moments near sunrise
.
The comforting embrace of home
The security
.
Shadows crept slowly
across her majesty
lighting up the rolling hills
.
The sheets of white seem to glow
where the window's silhouette glides
.
I marvel only for a moment
as if not to hamper on the creation
of this marvelous situation
.
A sleeping angel
should be left to her cradle

try to capture a shooting star
with all of its glorious radiance
as it cascades through the epoch
of its own demise
a daunting and elusive task
it helps to remember
we're all burning embers
tumbling down from the sky

a mighty emblem
of eternal love
and infinite wisdom
such as yourself
is born perfectly
and endlessly worthy
of the deepest regard

Laying awake trying to save
the fleeting dream of rolling hills
thin as paper.
The braille script.
The glimpse of unrealized patterns.
Mound dotted terrain
of empty realization.
Flying above trying to remember
the feeling, the speed, the relation.
Through the eyes of a bird
flying forever
over lands unknown to man.
The alarms of evolution
ring me alert
as if I were falling.
The scent of evaporation
filling my sedation
as I try my best
to slip back into the murmur.
The comfortable notion when I was dreaming.
Floating above those foreign land
of breathless barren beauty.
The rolling hills.
I miss the feeling.
I always knew I had.

the purple and pinks
of a departing sun
the rolling picturesque
clouds of a pastel canvas
poise a tranquil brilliance
accentuating and overlaying
a patiently waiting
velvety underlay
of twilight
nightly

Time is a fine blade.
Where the present moment
is the cutting edge of reality.
The pinnacle;
the very platform
in which we stand.

Given a stone
I'll begin a mountain.
For mountains form in the eddies
of this wavering world.