I will never be able
To fully describe the way
The morning sun
Rises like your stuttered phrases
Yet my hands find their way
To yours,
Like flowers bending
To face the light.

My own advice must be lacking in something.
Will I in turn become defeated by my own dimise?
What doesn't break you makes you stronger.
Well maybe Im tired of being broken.
Hiding inside my head for now, let me know when you've found "an easy way out"

The dress I bought to wear today was covered in daisies when I put it on this morning. Now the daisies have all withered away. Shriveled up into black seams. In the car, I curled my hair and placed pressed powder upon my face. Later I added wings to the corners of my eyes, and when I cried;  the spots that were left behind reminded me of birds hanging from a tree. Little ropes wrapped around their necks.
For a long while, I sat next to a roasting fire. My feet against grey brick. An anger in my gut swelling. I stared into a flame as it crackled and hissed at me. Took tiny sips of whiskey and swore to never speak your name again. They passed the bottle around, and when it reached me I looked at it wildly and took a swig. Counted bubbles; one, two, three.
They asked me. On repeat like a broken record. "Is he coming?" I didn't know what to say. Goosebumps covered my entire body. I felt silly. Oh so silly.

Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.

The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap;

But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.

They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.

The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
—An angel has no nerves.

Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.

so very large,
is the love,
in my heart.
as i look back,
across the years.

to the people,
who have touched
my being
and shared my fears.

all those days,
spent in a haze of  
laughter, life
and  tears.

all those friends,
found and lost in,
so many, different ways.

you all,
had a part in
shaping these,
my betterdays

it is only now as i write
these words.
i think how,
magnanimous,
you were, to care at all..

each and every one,
could have passed me by....
found a better friend,
merely said,
hello and goodbye.

but i am so,
utterly blessed.
that,
your heart,
saw my heart.

and we gave,
each other a chance,
to grow and fly.

some, just for a season,
some, forevermore.
all, sown into my being
all part of my very core.

and yet, there is still
time and space for more....