in only three
days I will be
pushed out of
the category
of being super young
my twenties have begun
I secretly hope
that I won't lose the fun
of life and living
getting and giving
dancing to the tunes
my heart is singing
dreaming dreams
scheming schemes
excitedly studying
captivating themes
hoping big hopes
crossing thin ropes
and climbing over
giant big slopes
as the next lot
of years slot
their way into me
I hope I will not
lose my inner child
by becoming mild
may my heart forever
burn free and wild

If only you knew what I was going through;
What I was thinking;
But I'll keep it like a secret,
Never to be heard by anyone,
But by only the one who spoke it

Darkness is funny in the ways he works.
I feel him embrace me from behind, like old friend's surprises
In a room full of fresh bright and clean faces, I only recognize one
There will be only him to run back to.

I picked the name as darkness arbitrarily.
He goes by loss, despair, many others he doesn't want me to say
I try to ditch him, to unfriend this glitch in my normality, turn every corner looking for a way to unhook myself from this line
I use him as he engulfs me, intensely scales as I excuse myself from dinner.

He doesn't leave, turning to faces surround me
he will be there
A stench of a disaster, stains on holy clothes, we will not be separate
The days I have without him are short, warm, comforting
There's that word,
I burn uneasy from that name than I do of my old friend
He knows how to cloth me
willed days to be long, lost and cold.

I run to find the ease of unhappiness and solitude day in and day fall
I don't mean to be rude, I must go, I'm in need of darkness.

My room does not
evolve or become;
it morphs instantly and before your eyes.
Things move and fly they burn and cry.  

I watch as a dust devil conquers invades
Two minutes later,
waltzing brooms on parade.

I stuff my room full of
glass metal wood.
Some would say hoarding
I reply misunderstood.

Most of the glass is pretty much broken,
the wood is all scorched, the metal contorted.
All of its stays because my hand has spoken.

My room is a magical place replete with spirits and souls and little doors to inner-space.

It likes to listen to music, the scent of a dog... It begs to get ****** off a good Sensi fog.

My room inspires my hands to create...
Whether with torches or pencil, hammers or lathes.

I often ponder
what will become
of my room when I die?
Perhaps as I come back
to bid farewell....
I'll leave a piece of my soul to guard it at night

maybe not looking like i would
             not sounding like i would
             not moving like i would
but
i am until
i found myself

i feel
safe in the night
droplets against my chin
blending with the tears
you call your own;

let me
escape from the storm
you created after paradise
and run
run with the wind

The paint is flaking and falling off
splotched edges
discoloration
stormy days
weathered years
creaking and leaking
cracking from heating
the physics of aging
and seasons of raging
the terrible toll
they are taking
makes you think this old house
needs replacing.

But listen to the voices
of laughter and loving
hear echoes of weeping
and promise keeping
poems that were spoken
being whole and broken
see the tears that were shed
the glories in bed
sighs and lies
some of them said
inside the house that was home
these many years.


Inside spirit reigns
with angels unchained
where heart and soul
on a journey bold
through seasons of pain
where demons were slain
new life was greeted
death was cheated
souls were enrolled
in miracle courses
treasures discovered
of higher forces.


This old house of seventy six years
holds joys along with fears.
The structure isn’t new
but inside
there is
youth.