The vessel that is set to carry out its mission, Is the very utensil the architect uses to craft the map, My the courses it charts with swift motions and firm strokes, It dispenses the virtue of possibilities onto the surface, Opening doors to a world beyond comprehension, How the mind wanders to conceive dreams the heart can only fathom, Endless is its creation aiding all who heed its call.
patterned love responses spiraling outward from the chest in search of hearth and hemlock to soothe the brittle bones of a generation lost to time.
I remember a feeling once felt in the spacious quality of my life in its infancy.
a 'coo' to my mother--her face beaming through the unknown harshness of life yet to touch me.
father was out working, adding more and more points of stress to his life to provide for the seeds he sewed in the soil of his youthful ignorance.
adulthood snuck up on me too and now its too late to go back.
these days the only coup that will save me is the one I perpetrate against myself. the one that corrodes my beliefs and illuminates the extent of their misconceptions about the world and what it means to be me.
loyal are the lashes that lick my flesh serving the blood that drips and flows to the soil of my own wasted youth.
all I can do now is look forward to the unknown that looms ahead; terrifying and promising failure and change alike.
pray to your altars and cry to the invisible mute gods;
they will answer in kind in the laughter of children playing upon your spent life.
and so it goes-- life eats life and mother's die too.
use your voice while you have it--speak of clouds and storms that broke you, of winter and the living silence you've endured.
praise be to the broken and the weary of heart, for in the breaking is the great gift of life
and what you become after each shattering is nothing short of your endless potential.