I have lost my name many times
in the wind of unknowing.
I walked through the orchard of hours,
but the sweet, fallen fruit whispered lies,
and the trees turned their faces
from the hot Summer sun.

Nothing is straight in this world
not the road we take,
not the reason,
not the prayer softly spoken at dawn
with a cracked voice.
The truth, it seems,
is always playing hard to get.

I have lifted many stones
with trembling hands
stones heavy with silence,
heavy with secrets,
with the weeping of soldier ants,
with the old breath of forgotten earth.
And I have asked them:
Where is the truth I seek?
Where are the answers to the great unknown?
They do not answer me
but the dust beneath them sings
like the gods of old,
trying to let the cat out of the bag
in a language no longer spoken.

I am becoming
an old map with no legend,
a cathedral with broken bells
and shattered glass of color,
a man whose mind has frayed with time
from too many full moons
and too little meaning,
burning the candle at both ends
just to light a way that won’t stay lit.

Love arrives
as a feather,
and leaves as a flame.
Hope kneels,
then rises again
wearing the mask of hunger.
Even the stars
change their language each night.
The constellations lie
like old lovers,
talking out of both sides of their mouths,
promising never to fade.

The world is full of hands
reaching for answers
in waters that do not speak.
We walk on broken splitners of questions,
kiss mouths
that know only forgetting.
We carry the scent
of yesterday’s confessions
on the hems of our thoughts
ghosts we keep sweeping under the rug.

Memory is not a drawer
it is a sky,
a sky that swallows its own birds.
We remember
with the pulse,
with the scar,
with the wineglass
we keep filling
just to feel the weight
of something red
trying to drown our sorrows,
though they’ve long since learned to swim.

And still, I search
with feet torn from too much wandering,
with eyes drunk on paradox,
with a soul that rises each morning
to peel the sun
from behind the curtains
of confusion.
I’ve gone down too many rabbit holes
to trust the surface anymore.

I do not want perfect answers.
Give me the truth
hidden like a seed
inside the bitter olive.
Let me find it
in the sweat of the laborer,
in the laugh of a woman
who remembers sorrow
but still sings
wearing her heart on her sleeve,
but never missing a beat.

I will go on
lifting the stones,
knocking on the walls of the unseen,
breathing poems
into the mouths of ghosts.

Because even if this life is known,
it is a riddle carved into mist
a puzzle with missing pieces
hidden in plain sight.
I will walk this path slow
barefoot and burning, thought-drawn
until the truth finds me,
or I find it,
and it cracks open
like a pomegranate in the sun
the heart of the matter
finally laid bare.

If, in the environment in which we exist,
There is never not light shining -
Then the logical inference
Is that there is never either silence.

For instance,
There are one's own thoughts.
There is one's own heartbeat.
One's blood flowing,
One's own decay & growing.
Decaying which grows
From growth after growing.
The decay of the body's harmony -
Of its own regulatory systems.

Such things are solvable.
Establishing new order -
Liberating Nature;
Through Tranquility, Harmony.
But only through Harmony, Tranquility.

Time shows Nature - Kronos shows Gaia;
Nature shows Time - Gaia shows Kronos -
You are all undeserving,
You are all unworthy.

Think you're the only children,
Think you're only children.

Reno sky
Sage Ridge School
Basketball

I have walked behind my father for many years,
Marveling at the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strength in his back.
As a child, my father was a veritable giant in my eyes
His shoulders stretching towards the horizon
And far beyond the reach of my own spindly arms.
Whenever he lifted me high onto his mighty shoulders,
the world unfolded before my eyes
I felt like a demi-god on the shoulder of a god, lifted to heights where my troubles could not follow.
Every sight and sound was a revelation and more than anything else, I felt like I was on top of the world.

As a teenager going through changes,
I still walked behind my father, like a son ought to do.
his back, a steady silhouette always loomed large in my vision
bearing the weight of untold burdens in stoic silence;
never shifting nor trembling under the unyielding demands of life, family and the sacrifices that needed to be made.
In those enduring shoulders,
I caught a glimpse of Atlas himself and I could sense the titanic strength my father, who carried his world without complaint or pause.

Now, as an adult, I stand taller than my revered father.
I see the world from a new vantage point and
my eyes, once filled with innocent wonder now glow with a refined yet fragile understanding.
My father still stands as a rock and a pillar in my world
yet now, i see the change wrought by the passing of time
I see the slight stoop to his back, the softened edges of once hard muscles
and the weariness etched deep into the lines on his back
sadness grips my heart and i ache for the figure of invincibility that he struck in the past
Yet, those same shoulders bear their old burdens still, proud and strong
If there is one thing time has done for me, it has brought me closer
in understanding and in strength to my father
And though i can walk beside my father, i chose to walk behind him, if ever so slightly to his left so that i can share the weight he bears
If there is one thing i am grateful for the passage of time, it is that i can ease the load on those steadfast arms and give my father rest in the twilight of his strength.
For all the years that he carried the world upon those shoulders, now it is my turn to share the weight.

No matter my crisis,
There’s one thing I know-
Even when I’m at my lowest,
I still make the ******* joke.

The room goes quiet,
So I start to smile.
Deflecting pain like an actress,
It never goes out of style.

Tears sting behind my eyes,
But I deliver the line clean.
And everyone laughs,
Because no one knows what the **** it means.

My hurt has a laugh track-
Invisible, robotic, rehearsed.
And if I keep it playing loud enough,
Maybe I won’t feel the worst.

Because silence feels like sinking,
And truth feels like a loss.
But a joke? That’s a win.
Misery is humor’s final boss.