That same miracle,
Singing to my ears,
And there were tears,
Dripping on the shackles.

Heard it in the garden,
Somewhere on the moon,
In this quiet room,
Leaking rays of the sunlight.

Alas,
Never once I danced to it,
But my feathers were swaying,
As though grazed by the wind.

Ruined and worn,
Strangled with wild vines,
Damaged,
Yet still standing,
With hanged pictures on the walls,
Of old and new,
And a place,
For growth of life.

We valid,
Even as we age,
Through the endless pain,
We are still standing.

Clouds blow the sun away.
More coffee.

Some people are dancers in the light,
Others simply wander the day,
The dancers do everything right,
Only to hear what the audience have to say,
The wanderers spend sight more than might,
Just waiting for the Sun to go away,
And night would surely come,
When it does, no one is home.

So before nightfall takes it all,
Go and have a dance with your soul.

Sometimes, we lose our minds, in hopes to understand them.
Sometimes, we lose someone, as we try to do the same thing.

We desire mutual understandings,
Yet spare no effort in understanding,
And fear that when we are understood.

Depth of the blue sea,
Is like your love’s metaphor,
One that I yearn for.

You’re drowning yourself,
In fear and doubt,
But too scared to sink,
So you held out one arm,
Waiting for someone to reach it,
To pull you up,
And it hurts to feel,
No touch on your cold skin.

A tragedy indeed,
Ocean of tears,
With no boat around,
Only your feet,
To keep you afloat,
A death wish,
Partially committed.

How many are they?
Lights embedded sky, you asked,
Too significant.