My mind is like a Sunday morning in a weekend farmer’s market. Alive, chaotic and beautiful.

You hold me like you think i will leave
Like the constant contact we keep
Is the anchor holding you to me

The rocks can not stop
The waves from meeting the shore
And distance can not keep
My heart from beating for yours

When I am unhappy
about some aspect of my life,
I still enjoy
the basic experience of being alive:
the stimulating
sights
sounds
tastes
smells
tactile sensations and
introspective ****** experiences;

I still enjoy
striving with optimism
to improve my situation
so I can be happier;

I still enjoy
being happy
about those aspects of my life
which I can feel happy about.

All these poems
We write
To save our lives.

To preserve like amber,
Only more futile.

To hope and pray our children
May live on and bless
What’s left of mankind.

May move them with their liveness,
Their boldness, their plain old truth.
Even if all they ever did was express
How they really felt to be alive.