I am but a tiny speck on this spinning sphere-
a fractured fragment from its soil-
echoing my name into the fabric it's been made of.
With chalk I mark my tomorrows.
My place,
yours too,
among the giants in the universe
is right here:
where the shared humanity
pulses through earths veins.

Episteme
Contingency
Emperical Premise
Take a day to live in
Essential State Locus
of Self,
I being
I thinking you must be
for me
to think
of giving you
a piece
of my mind, thinking out being

existing, ist, nicht wahr, amness

I am as ware as any that wars
have never made things better,
Armegeddon fought by volunteers,

shall not be the final solution haters hope.

if this line exists, then you
have existence, here, and now,
in my past and your present, per

haps in process
of happening,
let using letting, let us presume
truth is discernible taken as being,

what is, is true, what isn't, isn't
truly imaginable
in and of itself,
having no being manifestly true.

Where as it has been said,
a word to the wise is enough.

Some days on back I sat on a pub’s oak stool
and drew in the musty smell of its past,
its scent of old leather and spilled beer that pooled
under the floorboards in a sticky mass.

An old man came in and pulled up a chair
and he scratched at his stubbly beard.
His grey eyes had fixed me in a granite stare
and rumbled ‘til his raspy throat cleared.

He said, “The word ‘nostalgia’ comes from Greek stems.
It means the pain of homecoming.
We look to the past through a cataract lens
at a ‘home’ that’s made out of nothing.”

I asked, “You can’t go back to your home again?”
He shook his head, a woolen wisp of a sigh.
“That home exists in the land of pretend,”
he softly exhaled in laconic reply.

And then he stood and slipped away home
while the strains of “Jerusalem” played.
I sat in my cloud of memories alone,
from fog emerged in the present to stay.

I hope the reflection in my mirror
Is happy
I hope she has lots of friends
And that she smiles with her eyes

I hope the reflection in my mirror
Knows she's worthy
I hope she doesn't lay in bed
For hours at a time
Sad and unmotivated

I hope the reflection in my mirror
Is confident
I hope she is brave enough
To start a conversation
And that she isn't too scared
To leave her home

I hope the reflection in my mirror
Never gives up
I hope that she can see
A future for herself
And that she never loses hope in me
Because I haven't lost hope in her

we are waking up every day
with so many things on our plate.
Even if the whole day feels empty,
our minds are heavy like lead.

We are leaving early to live our life
but we are always arriving late.
We are ******* the air in
but we our lungs aren't breathing.

We are searching everywhere, we are trying all the time,
but we don't know what we are wishing to find.
We are living every day
but no one is feeling alive.

We are fantasising every night
But we aren't sleeping.
We are wanting more everyday
But we are gaining nothing.
We are talking about living life
But we are burdened by everything that's  coming

I made a list of the things I am afraid of.
On number three, I wrote a word, "Tomorrow".

Tomorrow comes second, first comes today.
Even light, which is the fastest thing we know of,
Cannot make it fast enough to skip today
and make it straight to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is clever.
Tomorrow is truly tricky.
Every today I live,
There's a new tomorrow waiting for me.
"Oh the agony."
"I don't know what the new tomorrow will bring for me."

Everybody's tomorrow's a different tale
And tomorrow shows up every day without fail.

A tomorrow's always there,
A tomorrow always comes,
Until it does not one day.
Maybe then I'd wished
That I'd lived today.

Sartori-Falcon and Hathor
eternally dreaming
in clear mountain air ,
employ Lotus Flower
and Key of Life
in service of the Pneuma .
☆
KA.       BA.       AKH.       RA.
All lives , translucent
films in space .
Like a waterfall
of magical numbers
and codes of the ancients .
☆
Then , initiation to the
realm of the senses ,
through a rich fabric
of symbols , sound and light .
☆
While souls of the
bright star children
cross the galaxies
to their new green home .
☆
Blending their true selves
with the energy of animal spirits ,
they dance cosmic
telluric currents and solar winds .

a wailing groan
fists of triumph
lies
the shards of broken promises
from this shallow vase
cut anyone who try to fix it.
Do you really have the answer
or are you just raising your hand?