Boughs under heaven,
Birds sing praises to the sun,
  .  .  .  Golden apples fall.

Sun kissed skin
Molten gold eyes
Bright as a star
Dusted with starry powder
Smile as bright as a nebula
In the night sky
She blows a kiss, the star is saying good-bye.

Skin like the blazing sun overhead
Fierce as a shining orb of sunlight
A kiss hotter than any other thing
She will be next to you
But beware, for her love is hitherto
You'll never see a sun girl like her again.

She is bathed in a lovely moonlight
Silver, as those moonlike eyes
She can capture you with a single look
But her time is limited - you may have to rebook
Stunning silver dress, it's a beacon for moonlight
Will you make her feel right?
Hold her tight, she tends to drift
She is a gift
Brought by the moon.

i gave you all of me
only to receive a fraction in return

When the world around me
feels like a black hole
Energy goes in
But does not come out

What does that mean?
How does God cal me to be
Gentle?
Humble?

I know patience is the key
But how?
Why?
What does this stagnation help?
How long must I wait --
To see gifts used more fully?
To move into the light?

How do I challenge myself,
encourage myself
To keep on,
to stay optimistic
to keep alive the passion?

How do I know
When to sit?
When to act?
How do I remain in patience?

I feel like I'm biding my time
waiting until things
"really happen"
And yet, I know God is working
Now
Forming me and others

How do I let the patience guide me?

This world has a lot to take in.
It turns and turns stopping for no one
While I just sit and take it all in,
Take turns, take turns. Waiting for the next one.
No, this first-grade paradigm
That controls how I think and see what's fair
Doesn't really apply this time.
Cause first-grade knowledge isn't for just anywhere.
It's for the classroom,
The safe room.
The place where I sit and wait room.
I'm dying just to break through.
But I can't. See they hate you.

They take what they think is theirs.
Never waiting for the rule of turns.
Never thinking how the world fares.
When every bridge they cross burns.
What about the rest of us?
How are we supposed to move forward?
When none but the "very best" of us
Move on past our story's fore-word?
It's horrible and grueling.
Cause the "special ones" are ruling.
They ask, "Who you fooling?"
You'll always be a normal.

Why can't we all be special ones?
Why can't we all have that privilege?
Why must we all be the fretful ones,
Always worried about our image?
Worried that we won't look right.
Or that we won't be up to *****.
Cause when we take off our makeup each night
We no longer feel like enough.
No, it's too much.
Our minds are filled with thus and such.
But thus and such are just a crutch.
When we aren't enough.

At least, that's what they tell us.
Make us think we have to be gods.
Cause honestly that's the best way to sell us.
It doesn't matter if they're frauds.
See Humanity longs to be sufficient.
Able to satisfy itself.
So we do what we can with vision.
But leave our skills up on the shelf.
It doesn't matter or make sense.
To make some sort of recompense
When we never lost our innocence
Except by failing ourselves.

See, we fail to see our potential.
That special thing that makes us us.
But in the end it's the most essential.
It's the only thing we can trust.
Whether it's our brain, or our brawn,
Our very will to survive.
It's the very thing that let's us press on
The only think that makes us alive.
We have talents, our gifts.
But our spirits they need lifts
That come through paradigm shifts
From what's fair to what's real.


It's a hard disparity to master.
But in the end it's always alright.
Cause it's only part of growing up.
Seeing the changes that came overnight.

I know someone.
He lives for the minuscule things,

For the few minutes of sunrises, 

Down to the seconds of sunsets,

For the moments the wind blows the dandelions, 

For the tiny drops of rain to his shoulders,

All of those, he takes a shot.


“He’s weird,” 
I thought.

I asked him, 
“Why bother?”

I’ll never look at things the same way again.

"Love the little things. 

Love the minutes the sky holds a different color. 

Love the wind that lets you have a chance
to wish for a promising tomorrow. 

Love the rain for it cries for or with you. 

Because those things just give a simple notation,
You’re still alive.”

Some people show their gifts as badges
They put them on their foreheads
They put them on their jackets
They put them next to their hearts
Some people hide their gifts as plagues
They put them under the carpet  
They lock them in a cage
They lie and say they have none
They convince other people of their inexistence
Some people hide their talents so well
Some people eventually forget they ever had a talent at all