"The world? So confusing"
"Complicated."
"Messed up"
"Deceiving"
"Ever-changing"
"Not enough"
"Ridiculous"
"Black and white"
"Boring"
"Ugly"
"Mysterious"
"Disappointing"
"A page of out of a book of lies"
"I think the world is beautiful"

It's here again
more gentle light
a welling of spirit
the urge to move
limbs eager to
gambol and play
the song of birds
senses soaring
green growth
erupting sunward
blooms posing
both with flowers and people
my heart is singing
my outlook sunny
I feel like making
love to life

Your house may be filled with clutter
and it may not subside
but the entire world is cleaner
if you are clean inside

I have spoken to
the birds.
I have asked them about
how they know where
it is that they're going, and
every one of them revealed that
they do not.
They tell me that they just
flap their wings and
fly away and they don't need to
think about where they're
going because they rely on
themselves enough to be
assured that they'll end
up right where
they need to be.
But how do you
know where you need
to be, I asked
them, and they told
me once again that
they do not.
They just rely on their
wings to take
them there.
I wish I could have been
brave and spread my
wings and fly where
I need to go as the
birds left.
But instead I
stayed behind.
At first I was
ashamed of
myself for not
following suit but then
I realised that
maybe the reason I didn't
fly was because I was
already where I
needed to
be.
-ignis

It has been
forever since I have been
asked, "How are
you doing?"
But that's
okay with
me, because I am
fantastic. I am
brand-new, and
shiny, and just
lovely, so thank you for
not asking because I am
proud that I can
say it for
myself.

There is a girl
on a bench in the park
at the edge of the town.
She is young.
Little ringlets of copper brown
frame her delicate face.
Wide eyes of the purest sky blue
scan the trees.
She is looking for something.

She stands up
and straightens her skirt.
Her legs shiver,
and her socks grow heavy with water.
Nobody is around to question her,
about why she's out in the snowstorm.
She wouldn't answer anyway;
she's too focused.
She is looking for something.

Cautious steps now.
The ground is slippery with ice.
Her boots do not hold
because they are too worn from walking.
Finally she reaches it,
the edge of the sidewalk.
She peers intently into the grove.
Her blue eyes narrow.
She is looking for something.

All is silent,
except for the flurries of snow.
Before long there is a blanket on the ground.
It is thick powdery snow.
It collects in her boots and on her scarf,
and she shudders as the ice
presses against her porcelain skin.
But she is silent, focused.
She is looking for something.

After a moment,
she steps back and sighs.
There is a slight smile on her lips.
Her nose is red and drippy with cold.
Still, she is silent,
though not by choice.
She has no one to talk with.
It's barren.
She has found what she was looking for.

What it was I can't say.
Either I don't know,
or it's not my place,
or you could ask her yourself.
But there is a girl
on a bench in the park
at the edge of town,
and she is happy.

I am the rat.
There are always
roads that I can take,
and always
new places to be explored.
I am compact,
and I can
fit wherever I
want to go.
There is always
a surplus of food and
I eat well.
But sometimes,
the food is poison
and I am left with only
my dying breaths.
Some passages lead me only to
being hit with a broom.
I am called
filthy and disgusting.
But still
I find myself
smiling when I
wake because
it's **** well worth it being the rat.
-ignis