I’m just a stone; skipping carelessly
through streams of love.
  One
      Two,
          Maybe three
Seeing how far I’ll make it this time; distant
enough to not see where I immediately sink.
  One
      Two
          Three,
             I made it to four
Still however far you go, the awkward silence
you can hear, is a distant failure’s echo.
  One
      Two
          Three
             Four,
              Must be luck to make five
With the smooth skins of stone, often to tattoo the
smoothest words on tongue; patiently ready.
One
      Two
          Three
             Four
              Five,
               Honestly, best not to count on your failures,

Its so easy to lose count, but just count on one:
—the one day you eventually find what you’re looking for.
One day does feel like a distant arrival, still it will be
one day, you’ll know you have found the one.

Beneath the canvas of the starlit sky,
A beacon burns, a lullaby.
Through shadows cast, a tale unfolds,
Of a love more precious than gold.

In shadows interlaced, the glow would sing,
A celestial whisper, a familiar wing.
I'd stray at times, chasing the day's fleeting gleam,
Questioning the light, like a forgotten dream.

Resentment clung to the flickering light,
As if returning home was a surrender to night.
In my heart, a whisper of pride,
Home meant I hadn't soared wide.

Through the years, the light reframes,
No longer a symbol of forgotten aims.
Like moth to a flame, I’d circle back,
To a hearth that murmured, a quiet track.

Now, the light's not a sign, not a line in the sand,
But a soft place to land, in an unknown land.
A sanctuary, a heartbeat, a welcoming roam,
In the cadence of shadows, I find my home.

The door swings wide with a creak and a sigh,
A refuge awaits, where tears can dry.
So, as I wander life's unknown,
The light guides me back, a beacon of home.

Trying to learn
Something from the
Past
Is a funny way to spend the
Future.

We look back
At the beauty,
Seeking the safety
Of our imaginations,
Knowing memories of
Other Lives
Can shield us
From the pain
Of our own
Biography.

You long to sit
In classrooms,
Captaining other minds
Through the fogs
And mists
That shroud memory.

The light you bring
Can illuminate
Or blind.
Sometimes, a dimmer light
Is better
To see through
The fog.

Glance backward,
Don't stare.
The future,
Glorious and clear
Awaits.

We ask ourselves;
‘Why?’
That ‘life was made to die’,

But if we continue to ponder,
We turn grim,
And somber.

For this question is up to us.
A creation of an answer,
One can trust.

As one can love,
And finally adjust.

I wrote that my
Eight year old
Is no longer screaming,
That a loving hand
Watered the budded rose
Deep within him
And therefore me,
And thereby changed
EVERYTHING,

Now life is like walking
Across an ancient battlefield,
I know for sure
That armed struggle
And violence took place
Right where I walk,
But now the breeze
Carries only the sound
Of bird's songs

My feet swish through
Meadow grass,
No longer mud
From Flanders fields,
I like,
No in fact I love
Walking here now,
Will you perhaps
Come walk here too?

It's ok to make mistakes, ask for help and to not know.

a sense of shame brought upon by old social media profiles
a glimpse, a gaze, a window to my past,
and the cringe and depression comes flooding back.

a quick purge to the page shall do,
but im not sure thats good enough,
but it helps to know im in a better place,
the one that "she" was searching for.

lonely and confused i was,
but now that i'm mature,
i can love myself more.