The autumn wind
Blows chill this morn
On the hill of Sanu
Where you should be passing:
My garb I'd lend you, if I could.  

I sit on a cliff to watch the
Sun as it rests at the vastness
Of ocean. Here, I found

A self chained by the oppressive
Landscapes of memories—measuring
The distance of a life lived in the

Folly of youth from the life
Lived in the youthful folly of life.
Life is a circular argument.

                A strange voice from the
 Wilderness utters the words of the
               World. I am compelled to

                                              Listen
        ­                                       Obey
                          Drift from my self.

I lived a life not of my own. Blown
By the wind. Riddled by doctrines
Of truths in multiple versions and

Renditions of power. Powerless I
Have become. Becoming, thus, is
Defined and defied by truths

Relative to utility. Living is an
Attempt in futility unless the myth
Of becoming is braved by believing

In oneness with one's self.
I sit on a cliff to watch the sun as it
Rises from the vastness of ocean.

Here, I find myself.

At 5
45 my eyes
Have just begun
To slowly
Creep
Into their sockets.

My body
Screams at me
To go back to sleep,

But can I help it
If dawn  
Was the only
Quiet

I've been able to muster
In a long time?

Alas! Awaked again
Enough to send me tumbling down
Into what might be something familiar
Yet entirely new

Coming in
without permission
Controlling me
like a puppet to a puppet master

Taking pride in its reign
Towering high above my will
Like fire that never cease to grow

Though sometimes away
but not for good
Gone
But surely to come back

I sigh in confusion
Helpless in this happenstance
I'm human, yes
But it's the most annoying thing ever.

To everyone else who used it to seal a present,
It was nothing more than
A color to choose
A length to measure
A string to knot
It was something that held together a treasure
But to her, a ribbon was so much more

The triangular slit
She herself had cut at the edge
Of the soft pink ribbon,
Ended in corners,
The way her smile did
Everytime she'd
Loop and pull
Loop and pull

The bows she'd craft
Were more to her
Than just bunny ears and tails.
They were trinkets of triumph
Hints of hope
Possessions of passion

They reminded her of spring
Not the season
But spring
Of the trampoline
In her first gymnastics competition.
The ribbon hugged her ponytail
Delicate and dainty
The ribbon lay around her neck holding
Gold
Silver
Bronze
Ribbon nonetheless

They reminded her of balloons
Not the hot air type.
Balloons at carnivals
That floated
Miles away
Heights astray
If there was not ribbon
To secure it tight
On her fragile wrist

They reminded her of father.
Not that he wore ribbons or anything.
But that he left her with one
Wrapped around
A freshly picked
Bundle of flowers
Bundle of happiness
Bundle of unspoken words of affirmation

But flowers die

And so did father

When they did,
She was left with nothing but the ribbon
Loose and dirtied.
But the pinkness
Unlike flowers and father,
Barely faded away

And for the first time in a long time,
She saw life
In something that didn't have any.

Did  I wake you in the night
from the tossing and the turning?
nightmares who present to me fright
and a heavy heart a' yearning

Venice was where we wanted to go
the thoughts remind me of when
we said we'd follow the river's flow
problems, never to see again

but life has caught us in it's clutch
you are not as well as before
yet you never complained, said it's too much
with a smile and the pain you ignored

while dawn settles in, I let hope whisper
"(when) you are well, we will journey the river."