Novice, heed my diction—
The learned, the schooled, the politic,
Are but fools with conviction.

Just as how a little stick-man could not perceive the pencil that drew him
I could have never seen God and didn't see him when he had molded me
from His depths of clay, profound as a rock- that is to say still, solid,
silent, cold, old, disquieting... All fancy words for 'not much.'

Here's the point: there isn't any, but
just as how this little stick-man cannot perceive this pencil that draws him
closer and closer to the last panel of his, this, comic or graphic novel:
beings of smaller dimensions know nothing
of those so much higher, smarter, and more poetic than themselves.

Does this have to do with why you disappeared onto an airplane
like a bird searching for her freedom...?
Am I, in this mess of metaphors, your little stick-man who couldn't
get out of his paper sheet and fly with you...?
Of course, in existing on a dried white flap, I could not, cannot, fold
my own two dimensions of existence into even one crumpled paper plane;
so I could not, cannot, follow you through your freeing air
and ask you, or beg you, to answer my silly questions...

Because I have both length and width, but no depth;
no depths of clay.

Though I figure the answers to these questions are the same.
The truth is that, in this mess of metaphors,
neither of us got to pick what we didn't want to be, bird or stick-man.
In reality we had only one choice: to hold hands when we could.
So we did.

And when we did- everything became dimensionless;
and Everything made sense because Nothing did.
Because the value of the distance between our hands
meant that Nothing was our Everything.
And from that dense Nothing our Universe was born-
Bang. Thus tiny strings of new Everything rippled throughout old Nothing...
making Everything matter, almost literally.
We then made our stars, our galaxies, our planets; our classrooms,
lockers, and lovers: each other. All of this brilliant Creation until
we only had one last choice: to hold hands when we could...
...so we did...

... again and again,
in the distant dreams of a troubled theorist
who chains together pages and birds of poetry,
looking to find you, again and again,
in the mess of metaphors
of our Universe,

and I did.

                    Almost.

After summer rain  .  .  .
In coolness of rising mist,
Lone frog jumped in pond.

Sometimes we live our lives out of fear.
Sometimes we are unaware of what is actually real.
Sometimes we take things for granted before they disappear.  
Sometimes we need to break our glasses to see in the clear.

Look around and what do you see?
Beauty lies within the nature of every facet you perceive.
Take a moment to suddenly pause time;
becoming aware of your zen state of mind.

When you observe droplets of water falling from the engorging sky,
visualize that moment frozen in time.
Become mindful of the chemical process elegantly combined;
as you experience the moment before it passes by.

Clarity will suddenly reach its remarkable peak,  
after reliving the vicarious journey of the droplets feat.

Sometimes we stop living our lives out of fear.
Sometimes in the mist we become aware of what is real.
Sometimes we cease taking things for granted after they disappear.  
Sometimes we need to fix our glasses to continue seeing clear.

By: Michael M. De La Fuente