Falling, falling down
The water follows its rhythm

To, on the ground
The clouds, for all that’s written

in stone,
on paper,
with ink and pen.

Below, to know
to hear
the rain fall
the wind fly away,

away,


away,

and soon to seep into the ground

again.

I walked in the evening,
Throughout the widow's woods.
Following the rabbling brooks,
Down to the lonesome cliff spire.
On the edge I spied a man,
A ruffled suit, head in his hands.
Slowly, I approached him,
And sat by his sorrow.
'For what are you here sir,
For why have you come to shed tears over the edge,
Straight to the rocky jaws of the gorge's floor?'
He raised his head from it's rest,
Turned it to look at I.
'My friend I have come for death,
His sweet relief and eternal rest.'
Widened did my eyes,
'But friend, it is not your time,
I see a pool of youth still in this eye which you gaze with.'
He sighed, looked back to the edge,
'Your eyes lie to you my friend,
My years of youth are gone,
But before I go take this letter,
I want not my last thoughts to go o'er these falls.'
So I did, then once it laid safe in my hands, I left,
And so did the man,
But left not to his home,
But to the end.

Spring is coming,
I can smell it in the air.
The warm kiss of sunny days,
The sent of the Earth waking again.
Winter snows fall from their glinting glory,
Shrinking as they drown in the muds.
The puddles claim the sidewalk stones,
Now in their reflection, I know my face again.
My soul aches as the breezes pass by me,
Carrying the sweet scents of flower blooms.
If only I could grow wings,
I would follow them to their shining prize.
Spring, is coming.

Curious got me this far,
But conviction has done me in
Periphery sights in the fore
Can’t see what’s settling in
Give me what I came for,
And I’m out the door again.

Craving sylvan hillsides
Verdant and turbulent,
Set me down under arboreal parasols
Only glints of radiance grace the skin,
A life full of demons, I confess my sin
Here within the confluence baptized in chimerical reverence.

Jade eyes staring into the cerulean sky,
Seeking truth in nebulous phantasmagoria
Counting clouds pushed by a zephyr,
Evanescent temperance,
Fleeting like a whisper,
Caught in the ineffable grandiose
Let me wander here, aimlessly.

I wish to see scintillating diamonds
‘Cross the crepuscular horizons
Grant me resplendence in gazing into the obsidian
Contemplating the cosmos and all that tableau science,
Lose me into the abstract chasing the infinite
Nebula iridescence covers me in oil slick coating
And light the match, I am but a burning star.

Curious got me this far.

How do I beat writers block?
How do I scale a wall,
Google won't give me answers at all.

How do I fix a broken star?
How do I mend a shattered dream,
Is the answer hidden in the stream?

She is strong
She pulled herself through strong winds,
Roots gripping the earth, refusing to break.
She survived with little care,
Drinking from the silence,
Holding on when no hands reached out.

She never complained about the thirst,
Welcoming the sun, even when it burned.
She learned to bloom in shadows,
Happy with the little attention she received.

She stayed, even when neglected,
Spreading fresh air to breathe,
A silent companion when no one else was around.
A quiet strength, unseen yet unwavering.

She stopped withering away.
She adapted.
She grew.
She became more than survival—
She became life itself.

You dig a hole deeper than what gravity can hold down;
put your phone down – making those comments just to
ring the crowd up.

You’ll never fly any higher than an ostrich; but you play
their popular myth, when you bury your head in the dirt –
to cover up your face, with false scales of makeup making
up your worth.

Maybe as I missed the translation of when someone says,
“bed” to the word bird – to believe you rest in the nest
of your fears; never to leave that habitat, to soar above
the world.

Seems a habit not to face your fears –
sitting on your wings!