Still, serene, cosmic scene,
Dancing in the twilight ‘fore dusk.

Gentle summer breeze, floors of green,
In God’s creation I trust.

Away from the streets, the busy speed,
The needs, the deeds, and the fees.

As the trees recite their creed, come, follow me,
Away from the bustle and flux.

And then I lend my ear to hear what this creator is telling me.

The flurry of gust drops in,
Up, down, left and right,
Not in disarray, but rehearsed untroubled maneuvers,
As if He breathed, and waved through the countless timber fingers.

As if in that moment, the gust,
Gave them life, made them youthful,
Dancing in the breeze, simple,

Child’s play.


And I notice the daffodil, right by my feet,
And recall what Sir William had said,
Daffodil on its own, had anyone known
Seen it unique, apart from the rest?

And then did I see,
What was being said to me
A unity, purpose at best.

Cause how could the tree be without the leaves,
Each purpose, large or small, must commence.

Isn’t it that we want some truth, purpose as teens?
So tell me my friend, do you pop ‘script n drown dreams?  

One hundred pounds on my chest like a vest, depressed;
Yet I am blessed
Yet the test has me vexed, God just put my soul at rest
While in my mind is the line played a hundred times
“They say that dreams come true and when they do there is
A beautiful thing… do you wanna, do you..” its…

Something inside you and me. This is a letter.
From my soul to yours. They say it gets better.

The fire in your heart, the spirit never fails,
The way, the truth, the light, it guides ‘til the veil.

Do whats you.

Don't overthink it.

If it makes the heart pound and the head ache, its not natural.

What's beautiful is natural. Natural as the waves meet the shore.

So when I begin to pound and ache, I stop.
Release and breathe, this isn't meant for me.

And what will be, will be. God has a plan for me.

And I'll just let it come to me.
I can't be it all.
So ill stand tall, and listen for my souls call.

Silence is an art, and agenda is a science.

That's why I paint pictures of life, from this lonesome knoll,
Think thoughts of privacy in this holy state,

And keep them.

I wish I could swim.

It has been a long way, a long while, and I can’t see the shore.
I’m getting tired.
I’m losing my self,
slowly….
I am sinking,
slowly….
The current is so strong, and I’m not strong like I used to be.
It pains deeply that you have to watch me sink, because I can’t be there like you need me to be.

I wish I could swim,
but it seems as though I have forgotten, along with my dreams, joys, and name.

I can remember,
Standing on the shore. I remember the early morning moments of serenity.
So pure.
I can remember the sunsets, stars, and your laugh...
So pure.
I remember it was there, so it can’t be gone.

All will soon be on the other side.
I thought I had to cross the ocean, but I just had to wade inside myself.
There was already a beautiful thing there...
There was my strength.  

I am coming back, I’ll see you soon,
I remember how to swim.

Have you ever had that moment?
You’re standing on the mountain peak, for that one moment.

For that one moment, I can almost hear angels singing,
I can see the true beauty.

And it isn’t just the vast sky above me dotted with clouds,
It isn’t just a waterfall, or a desert scene of hot white rock,
Or majestic tress standing tall as to say, “I am”.
Or the stars coming together with their mother moon to almost dance in the twilight,
And say, “I am here, and so are you, and this is IT.”

It isn’t just as if I’m walking, down a long dirt path,
Lined with fireflies, and the sweet breeze accompanying me like
An old friend that I never met but somehow know.

It’s something to do with the birds chatter, and the child’s laugh,
The bliss of some sort of innocence, a lack of need for things
That I can have, but don’t bring me above the mortal, material, mundane.

No real understandable words, nothing really sets it off,
But it goes, as a shooting, pure assemblage
But its followed by deep chills, and some surrenderance upward.
Some serene, almost lonesomeness,
Yet accompanied by all the souls of the world.

I’m not self, but everything,
For one fraction of timelessness

and it’s almost like it all makes sense

Donkey or elephant?
Rich, middle class, or poor?
Red or blue?

They have us all confused, all duped.
It’s a game of sides, an endless pursuit.

So we begin to hate, one another,
Begin to rate, one another,
Like our worth depends on contempt,
Not resisting the tempt.

But brothers and sisters,
Isn’t this one nation?
Lost our patience,
All things decided by rich white misters.

Because we argue over things that take forever to be voted in,
And ignore the world’s greatest sins.

Because while we argue for feats,
People starve on the streets.

I’m acting my own self, that paper out of range,
Because I can show my fellow human love before my ballot makes a change.

Recreate... Re-create.

She told me that distraction is an art from vile thoughts, the ones that circle 'round, drag me down into the ***.

Recreate... Re-create.

Not distraction from the sort of thing that truly needs attention, but getting back to who I am, a spiritual ascension.

Place those wings upon my back, we all are holy creatures; show me what's inside your soul, the finest of all features.

If your demons drag you down, chain you up, and circle 'round,
Pull yourself up out the cauldron, fight and stand your ground.

'Cause in addition to holy talks is something that has power,
Re-create by recreating, and bloom your long lost inner flower.

Time is like sand.
Course here, smooth there.

Watching it slide down the choke point.
Don't slide so fast,

slow down...

I need it to slow so I can use it in my peace.  

But my peace is in
Taking time as it comes, taking time as it goes.

Passive; active in good time.

It was never about fighting, struggling, striving,
It was always about releasing, accepting, and allowing

So the spirit could do its good work in me.

What's best is what feels like home.

Stuck between two sides of the fence,
Like I wanna jump, but I can't.

Indecision has kept me here, posted.
Straddled between the heart and the head.
This picket fence appears to be the promises of good life.
But its just a stain of white deception, holding me...

Waiting...

Waiting to live.  

But I know what to do,
Choose the side that goes to my backyard.

Choose what feels like home.

Ragged, flimsy, thin, spotted card.
Creased with the tales of time.

Jaws equipped for a blow,
Ears higher than the mouth, just as God placed them.

Face structured like stone,
On the narrow shoulders of a boy, we lean.

And of all the 'siła' endowed to our name,
The windows gently lead to the soul inside.

Carry, drag, and crawl.
But never let an utter of hardship leave thy chest.  

Like a ‘Schnadel’,
More gold surfaces, as time does what it does.


"Spread your wings as I have told you,
God bless you, I love you."

Love from 'Polska' is different than words,
More doing than talking, build a house like the birds.


Stay true to 'Wiara' like a true ****** would,
John Paul set example, follow, do good.

"Fight like you’re dying, please lose the sad frown,
‘cause you can’t let the ******* get you down."

What a name you uphold,
Humble pride that is shown,
And like a good yellowhammer,
'Papcio' always returns home.