the weight of the tie
around my neck
and the quivers of my jaw
from what I've said.
a flock sits with downturned heads
and the wolves stand, with mocking hands.

as easily as the pencil glides
over the ****** page,
so also it is for the written to blossom
like forget-me-nots in the slanting rain.

Today,
the heavens wrote me
on the wrong end
where the ground is filled with spit
and the sky, grey with the angst
of mourning heads.

Tomorrow,
the writing would not be the same
and I would be
at the right end.

A dandelion’s wish floats in the breeze,
Dancing through sunlight and soft summer air,
Whispering tales of the places it’ll be,
Carried by winds that wander with care.

Upon a breath, it twirls in the light,
Sailing ‘bove meadows, o’er mountains so wide,
A fragile traveler in the still of the night,
Dreaming of lands where its dreams may reside.

It sways with the rhythm of skies so vast,
A tiny spark in the world’s grand design,
Ever fleeting, it drifts from the past,
Seeking a future where roots can entwine.

A moment it lingers, a sigh in the air,
Then onward it sails, with no time to stay,
Lost in the journey, in a whisper so fair,
The seed in the wind, forever astray.