Why won't you answer my calls?
Does the phone ring off the wall
Are you thinking of him
Why do you rock my world...

I know love's a word away
You just need to say you love me
In a letter posted to the heavens
You shake my earth...

Do you think of me with each season
They'll keep changing
And we won't meet
But, I know we will have changed.

So, move on.

Having been referred to on multiple occasions as being “depressed”, I am offended. Every time. Having a chronically macabre state of mind and being drawn to a melancholy atmosphere and writing does not make one depressed. Or a psychopath. It does not mean a person is on a journey to being a serial killer or committing suicide. Some people, such as myself, just happen to find comfort in things deep and meaningful. While some comedy, joy, and love is to be revered and enjoyed more sparingly the sad, twisted, and horrid truths of the world can uphold a better sense of completion, joy, and love. This does not make one depressed or mentally ill but perhaps just more...... thoughtful.

She who lives in accordance to nature unfolding is an entity who governs with equity,
Embracing the beauties of organic origins she preserves life's virtue,
Holistically embodying the spirit of now she carries an impartial tranquility,
Restoring balance towards fickle fabrications many are led to believe.

As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long

wisdom crisps its palms 
up to the hearths of winter
on walks

Older finds joy 
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves 
of autumn's fall

There is freedom 
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view

Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.

Whirling, airy, smoky-immanence.
A sad, sad song is tuned for me.
Grey char, blending orange shine, eminence.
Now that this Old World is ending