On my walls hang two pieces of art;
large canvases boldly splashed
with colour, stroke upon stroke formed vivid arcs.

I wish I had kept my father's paintbrushes,
they were tools of masterpieces.
From them, my strokes could have made faces flush
and inspired songs and poetry; love?

*
But, perhaps ‘twas a blessing to create with unique expression and freedom.

She bled the day the universe was built,
walking on tissue so broken
she called it art

Broadcasting cryptic wartime stump speeches,
in the morning she picked flowers
and read the part

The tired eyes awaited their salvation,
a release into salted balms
of letting go

But she persisted into the encore,
owning the role forged over a
lifetime ago

Soup lines turned to soup cans in the fallout,
merits grew with city limits
over lost bones

While music trespassed sunken hunting grounds,
mounds of soil and debt would not rest
with plastic thrones

When a hasty destiny came to pass,
and art turned to desperate prayer
she learned to wait

And now her brazen footsteps mark the halls,
the air tastes of tales that once were
hers to make

Greek heroes fall
Down and down again.
Years of glory,
Birthdays, family
Gone in a
single push
in a single
sun-burnt wing.

Will you fall tomorrow
As well?

Lay me to rest with my pen in hand, for the heavens shall serve
as my canvas, where with each stroke of ink, I will inscribe my
aspirations upon their billowing clouds - visible to all who gaze
skyward.

And as the rain descends, may it cleanse not only the tangible
world but also the abstract doubts that linger in the minds of my observers.

Through the permanence of my written legacy in the sky, let the
wisdom I have gathered extend beyond time and space. May it act
as a guiding beacon for the inexperienced, illuminating the path
forward amidst their uncertainty and ambiguity

                 ...my hand shall hold this immortal pen.

Your voice still echoes
in the silent corridor.
Your screams-
when the guards arrested you
for the sins you never committed.
Unheard, innocent, until when?
Chief, you're gone,
but I'll follow your legacy
till the day I die,
even if I die the way you did.
Beheaded- I'm not afraid.
Guilty as charged
if I don't fight them
to protect our people,
like you did.
I'll continue to live for you-
to change a generation.

This is not meant to be a poem.

Never delete what you were. Even though it doesn't reflect your current being. You must be proud of what you were because it got you until now and it prepared you. It gave you the tools. It WAS you and hence it IS still you.

Never be ashamed of the love you felt and gave. Instead. Grow in love and grow the love.

And if things did not go the best possible way. Well. What even is the best possible way? Things went the only way possible. You learn from what happens and live the way you think is best for you. Maybe learning from mistakes too.

There are no true immortal beings, but immortal are the feelings we feel and the ideas that we bring to others. This is because ideas and feelings will move through generations as long as someone is willing to talk about them. Share them. Write them. And speak about them with other people.

This is magic.

I guess that's all.

When I die, don’t look for me in the stars,
Look for me in my words.
Look for me in the books that line the shelves,
The letter “R” and the letter “E—"
And in every word you see them,
Please think of me.

Look for me where I’ve walked
And where I’ve never been.
Look for me in sadness, and I’ll be there...
But look for me in joy, too, won’t you?
Since they’re both so beautiful,
And both so true.

When I die, come look for me here;
Words won’t just disappear.

I truly believe that of all the wonderful gifts God has bestowed upon us (and there are many!) the greatest is the ability to create. Not just things, but life itself. The very act of creating/creation is to bring to life. It is Love (invisible and immaterial) made manifest (physical expression) in a very real way. The question to ask is: do my words and thoughts and actions speak life? Or do they destroy? Do they bring myself and others up? Or do they bring them down? Jesus is the Word Made Flesh, the Living Word and Bread of Life. For me, what sticks out to me that I am creating in my life is writing. Creating poetry and prayers that are inspired by the creator and shared with many by words of hope, comfort, peace, love, joy, etc. In my case, what I am creating very much reflects what I believe. When I eventually leave this earth; God willing many years from now, I want my legacy to be that I created or tried to create a little better and a little brighter world and future for our children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and all of our youth. I want to be remembered by how I lived and how I loved. What are you creating, what do you want to create, and what will be your legacy?