Our logic is round
Like the world that we stand on
Our fathers are proud
We proved to be worthy spawn

Our reasoning is cyclical
Like the seasons return on schedule
Our mothers still cynical
That love exists beyond her child

Morality makes us whole
Like a cold drink from a clean spring
But do we have a soul?
The weight of the question runs deep

You can't prove me wrong
Isn't a good enough reason to act out
And just because a song is sung
Doesn't mean I have to listen to you shout

Where is the line drawn?
Between hope and naivety?
Where the swelling of one's heart is nothing more than a fool's boon?
Instead of being a warming energy that radiates to the limbs?

Is it experience,
Hard won through heartbreak and loss?
Is it wisdom,
Some innate talent that some just have?

Forewarned is forearmed,
To keep the danger at bay,
But at what point does that wariness become a cage?
From what distance is everything far enough away,
To keep out the terrors of the world,
But close enough to live your life?

I'll tell you,
Bear witness to my words,
A question is your answer in this paradox,
How much are you willing to risk?

How much are you willing to lose,
How far of a fall are you willing to take,
For the sake of living your life,
For when you open yourself up to the wilds of the world,
Is when you truly start to live.

Magic requires that

you see exactly what's there:


real reality.

An automatic

door for everything that moves --


is closed still open.

the palette of the sky wanders
from crimson to dandelion
the waters dance by the shore
the wind sways the verdant
and hums with the breathing

it is a wondrous kiss of view
that comforts and cradles
something that we
always miss

that we are always desperate
to see, to feel
to breathe in, to keep
we click to capture it still
to yield a frame that moves
and holds life of infinite

i am filled with awe
every time i look at it,
it is heavenly—

yet we rather ruin her innate
comfort and cradling mount
to get pieces that are dull
and mundane

yet we prefer destroying
the green that shades
and shelters
to earn the green paper
so to use it later to savor
the serendipity only she can bear

How can you ask a man
Who loves you,
About the man you love?

If I was lesser than
I may play pretend and spin a thread
That pulls you closer to the center of my web.
         But,

My love is a field of a thousand faceless corpses.
Each one a time when I swallowed pride, and
Gave you my mouth
So you could smile wide.
          Little Lady,

Can you not see this calm bravado
Relies solely
On my never-blinking eyes.

For even a wink would have this city sink
Beneath
This grief I trap in ink.
You woke up and only met the sun today
          Because,

In the dead of night
I cupped your pain, and
Drank your inclement weather like bottled rain.

Everything is alive.
The spirit of life is endowed in every
Material and immaterial existence.
Life is an unstoppable force.
Life is contagious.
Life begets life and propagates
Ad infinitum.
Life is desire itself.
Every thing yearns to be alive
And every thing that is fading
Desperately reaches out for the suckle
Of that elusive, all-encompassing elixir.
Life is transient. It is delicate and strong.
It is a force itself which does not move Time
So much as imbue it with Meaning.
Life is tumultuous, unsteady, and capricious.
It wants to “go” in an atemporal sense.
It occupies the past, present, and future at once
But its movement is linear and certain.
It can splinter and halt.
Life is miraculous.
It implies the incomprehensible Divinity
Of Being. It is Absurd.
Life is defiant, stubborn, and strong-headed.
It can Be when no one is looking and in spite of
The skeptical spectator.
Every thing respires as one. Life is unity.
Life is paradox.
Life is