Being true of heart,
and pure in intention
will get you hurt,
and teach you lessons.

You must make room to accept
the freedom offered to you,
not by following fake rules
but only believing in its truth.

We seek absolution
meaning,
forgiveness
when it does not need to be "found" at all.

The point of love, of trust, we witness
is that it is free -
free from strings attached,
free from forced bent knees.

If it comes at a cost,
unwrap it, and see clearly:
the attached price tag is enough
to reveal its inauthenticity.

Beware of cloaked expectations,
control disguised as love.
A pure heart should be the only price paid
for love.

Be resolute in your search,
and return to those who give freely:
only these true gemstones are worth keeping
and calling good company.

A twinge of regret is always present
as we pass the paths that should have -
could have - been,
and see the keychains
from places we've never seen,
on other passenger's bags, and
jealous, we tear our tickets
and wish we had listed
a different destination,
wonder what it would have taken
as others do the same
from their seats.

With a clear mind,
the words flow in:

I hear a cadence like a beating drum
from my own heartbeat in my ears
disrupting the silence, or
adding to it, I can’t tell

the images, the feelings
like sand across my skin
like music in the distance, you can’t hear the lyrics
but you can tell you know the song.

Like visions in a hazy prophecy
my mind spins the whims my dreams whisper to me
and I close my eyes, and weave-
and here flows this
poem,
or maybe it’s just the quiet breeze
and all this is my mere imagining.

I would never wish pain on another
let alone the one that I love
Yet, I wish
you would tell me “I miss you”
so I know
we both miss us.

Life seems duller, without you here
even as we wait
to meet.

I have strived in earnest
at many an affectation,
played my hand, and found
the cards were not dealt in my favor.

I have considered myself an intellectual,
esteemed, yet trying to be
frugal in my pride
I shied away from arrogance
and found I lacked the spine, or the eyes
to see what words of mine
could stand alone
beside the shoulders of greats.

This is not to be self-disparaging;
on the contrary, it is quite limiting
to believe you have no limits
for when the results come in, and the chips are down
who can be blamed but yourself?

No, I do not fancy myself
some seer of politics or
wordsmith of old,
I am too impatient
to sift the extent of knowledge in my hands,
I dump in the whole bag of flour
mix, and hope for the best.

So here I sit:
enjoying the feeling
of words running over my tongue
and within the bones of my fingers,
the scratch of a pen
beside the sound of birds
in the early morning.

To many, it is not much
but to me, it is enough
to consider myself a
simple poet
with nothing to share
but my condolences
for the ones who cannot create freely.