Abused
by the torturous Suns heat
That beats
and burns
my fragile bare feet
Short distance, now miles to come
with dried up lungs
from unforgiving Sun
Twinkles of first starlight,
a warning to hide
for cowerdly Sun,
the Moon is to arise
Wrapping its blanket of energy
gently around what yearns
for the nocturnal healer
to soothe Earth from it's burns

The next time you wander through
the Forest,
give attention to
what makes it live.

From towering oak trunk to timid
wisps of grasses,
Wind
blows through.

Though rampant branches jut
in chaotic cacophony,
wind calms the fray:
harmonic, swaying, symphony.

To refer to Wind by her name
seems almost unfitting.
Product of the sun itself,
impossible to be un-felt,

Wind pervades.
She's a comforting breeze on a calm day,
who soothes whatever goes wrong,
forever on the mind when she's gone.

Perhaps Wind could be better called
by a name that captures all
her beautiful, ceaseless soul,
twisting through life.

My Love,
they should call the wind

Mariah

how easy was it
to walk away?
did you walk out
with your heavy heart
weighing you down
or did you run out
skipping?
why did you
have to go?
why did you think
the only option left
was to simply
pack you bags
and leave?
it hurts.
it hurts a lot
knowing
that you gave up on me.
gave up on us.
i don't think
i have cried
so many tears
in my sixteen years
of existence.
but if you came back
i would welcome you in
with open arms.
we can start new.
i can refill your heart
with the love
you lost when you
walked out.
but answer me
one thing:
how easy was it
to walk away
mom?

I’ve always cried in secret.
Not by choice;
I just never seem to be noticed
when my heart breaks,
my body quakes,
my resolve is torn asunder.
I never receive the pity
I feel I deserve.
With a twisted face
and clenched fists
I try to hold back
unsightly sobs and gasps for air.

I’m never noticed,
but maybe it’s better that way.
Brokenness is ugly,
and my shards are jagged.

You’re no stranger to this.
They see Your Crown,
Your Side,
Your Hands and Feet.
But people forget
that You carried the Cross
that bore Your Body for hours on end.
They forget
that the Flesh was torn
and every step dug deeper
into Your Shoulder.
They whipped You,
they beat You,
they spat and ridiculed
But the pain of the Cross was constant.
There was no relief
from lifting and dragging
that torturous wood.
Dislocated and raw,
how can they not remember
the deepest Wound of all?

Is that why You gave me
my Wound, Lord?
Is it because I know
how it feels to have pain
not easily recognized?

Let me kiss your Wound, Lord.
Let me clean it and hold it
to my own.
Let me endure my pain
as You did:
with grace and compassion
with strength and integrity
Let me bear my Cross
as You bore Yours.

I looked in the mirror this morning,
And there was a little tiny change,
An older look to my eyes,
My smile was foreign and strange.

My posture was straighter and taller,
My cheeks were thinner and slim.
I'm changing right before my eyes,
And every day I'm at the whim
of Whoever decides what I'll be
When I'm an adult someday.
When make believe no longer appeals to me,
And I've forgotten how to play.

So what I want to say to this elusive Whoever,
what I want to ask of this woman,
Is "Are all these changes the real me?
And is the real me who I am?"