I felt the world was worthless,
A hollow place of fading light.
But seeing you here,
My heart came alive again.

I know — you do not know,
And you are not near me.
Even so, I don’t wish to tell you
That I love you…
But I love you.

Now, a new inspiration rises within,
To write the lines of my heart,
Hoping one day
Heart will meet heart.

And in that destined hour,
We will sing — joyfully, fearlessly,
For the world where we belong,
And for the love we carry.

i didn’t want to,
but i wrote anyway.
cracked open
like a shell,
flooding with memory.

some words
arrive as if they’ve waited
their whole lives
to be read.

waiting for the fever
that burns an amber
wire sizzling into
my periled glass heart.

I scroll humdrum
I hop onto sane
and dig through
unformed parking lots.

memory
drained

malfunction
multiverses
passed.

The earth is not yours, not mine —
it is the breathing body of all.
The stars are not strangers,
they burn in our blood,
they echo in our thoughts.

To wound another
is to wound the sky,
to heal another
is to heal the whole.

We are not many, we are one life,
one dream dreaming itself
in a thousand forms.

And when we awaken,
the walls will vanish,
and we will remember:

No border holds us,
no wall divides the breath —
the air of your lungs
is the same wind that moves the oceans,
the same whisper that stirs
the heart of a stranger.

After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

Death is not loss,
But a returning to source.
A merging with the song
That sings through all.

So do not mourn—
I have not vanished.
I have returned to everything.

The man on the moon, you see
He has a few friends

He's perfect and broken
And is kind to no ends

I believe he is lonely
Floating gently in the sky

Even if you whisper him your secrets
He'll never tell you why

His pain is unmatched
Yet he's beautiful all the same

Even when he looks at perfect stars
He casts them no blame

And I find it comforting
Looking to him at night

For he taught me even in dark
There is a way to find some light

The Poem

"Life is the true poem"

July 18, 2025.

A gaze from the sixth sense,
to seek that poem, "The Poem."
That poem that is always there,
to dive into life searching.
Where life is the only poem,
that poem that holds everything.
Where everything is, to see,
to feel, that it unveils itself,
in pieces for life.
In pieces searching,
for that ideal poem.
Reflections of life,
that are just,
there in everything.
Unfurled,
pieces,
parts,
souls,
poet.
In that,
which is,
something,
more.
You,
and
...