I held scissors between my hands yesterday's night,
I cut a heart out of cardboard,
gave it a shower,
tucked it to bed,
sang to it a couple beats
and buried it in my chest.

of an innate perception
the squawking hawk's morning cry
he felt rain within his veins
arriving by night

You are a Star.
It is natural.
The Being.
When you see yourself
Then you start from within
The core, the being
ever shining
You used to see the Being
You used to feel the Being
You do things as you know the Being
You are bright even then

Now you are the Being
A Star, ever shining
Brightness piercing
Incredibly unique
Mysteriously unmatched
That even in the Light of other Beings
You are clearly seen
I Am clearly seen.

In silence,
you hear me.
In silence,
walk with me.
Fear not,
to feel.
Yes,
I am real.

The words run through my veins
innate to me like blood.
Thick, gooey flowing through my head;
my body.
Like when a nurse takes blood to save lives,
I bleed my words onto the paper to save myself.
To save others.
The way a person needs a pint of blood,
I need a poem.
I need words to give me hope.
Words, words,
words.

Can love suffice,
my breaking ice, heart.
Sometimes so bright,
others whisper of my light,
without presence of a cloud,
facade premises allowed,
darkness innate,
tis sins fate,
to worry and strife with only pre-assumed might,
lovers fight.

Can seasons conceal,
realistic reals?
fading blossom and bloom,
twelve full moons.
Leaves rustle and brown,
people age and clown,
we live, we hope,
for a way around the moat,
to gain castles entry,
in this new century,
to proceed without fear,
behind technological austere,
expression both grave,
and brave, crave, gave, grave, slave..

why do we revolve,
around loves sweet resolve?