The icy winds of dawn dig in their nails
Daylights first break tempered

For the light only scatters along the horizon
But does not yet kiss your skin

As her nails dig in, a familiar pain takes grip
Familiarity is a fickle friend

If progress is measured in wounds healed
Then taking shelter is Apollo

For you see what's in front of your eyes
It's beautiful, and it's coming to you

Beneath the skies so lush and wide,
Where bluegrass sways and winds abide,
The sun above in glory shines,
Painting clouds with radiant lines.

Yet we were over, before begun,
Gratitude and sorrow, intertwined as one,
Emotions buried deep inside,
Beyond the universe, they hide.

My time here, a fleeting ghost,
Loss, a demon, unwelcome host,
Apocalyptic visions through the night,
Rhododendron blushing in the moon's soft light.

Bloodstains bleached from secrets kept,
Lies in the darkness, secrets swept,
Trembling hands, a race we'd run,
To find a life that's just begun.

This plasma sphere, it fades away,
Marigold hues in the pine trees sway,
Rolling hills, a green domain,
A rollercoaster of life's refrain.

Awakening to what's been concealed,
That toxic love, once so unhealed,
Shackles shattered, I am free,
To chase my dreams, my destiny.

Nature's grace, without judgment here,
Embraces me and holds me near,
In its soulful eyes, I find my peace,
And as I breathe deep, my troubles cease.

Sometimes, I think I feel too much, like I crossed into a world of shadows; like there's been some kind of mistake.
Life seems to sharp, to vivid,
too right there in my face.
I feel like a stranger.  It's as if I were on a bus, and out of the tinted windows, things looked vaguely familiar. I pull the string and get off.
It's the wrong stop, it's the wrong world. The bus has disappeared;
there's no way home.  I used to stand on a bridge that a river flowed under. And off in the distance, high atop the ash trees, the eagles were nesting. They were so beautiful and serene.
I can't watch them anymore. It breaks my **** heart to see all the concrete and construction inch closer and closer to the little slice of heaven they found in a piece of nature
that seemed vaguely
familiar.

Across the track, a rail yard worker
big innocent bear of a guy, beer
belly, embraces his girl. She’s
a conductor, comes up to that belly,
reaches arms not quite around
his back. They separate and embrace
three times while the train prepares
for departure.
                           Across the aisle,
a mother and son. Lights out, change engines,
they play Mercy. Squeeze fingers until one
cries mercy. The son still too small
to seriously challenge his young, athletic
mom. Ask and answer questions, laugh
and cry mercy, she draws and he colors
the features.
                         Unless a society
expects its fate to be better than its past,
it will strive to make its present
immutable as possible.
Optimism is a way of exploring failure.
It says there is no law of nature
or supernatural decree preventing progress.
Nearly all failures, and all successes, are in
our future.

I’m proud of myself
I was genuine and authentic
I felt myself grow
And become
The person I wish to be
In my soul.

I preferred apathy
A quiet release
Of tension in my shoulders

I chose kindness
Accepting the guilt
It inevitably comes with

I mixed and matched
My mind, my soul, my heart
In a flurry of greys

I basked, unbothered
In a meaninglessness
Of my own creation

Take a step forward
The air is cold
And the grass soft to touch

i have written
hundreds of poems.
in reading them over,
i find that
i have written
only a little bit of
poetry.

the passing of time,
the seasons,
of scenery
and people,
have scarred me;
embittered me.
i am now a more rigid person.

i dismiss my older writing as
pretentious;
uninspired;
misguided.
i wonder if
i should suffer the same verdict
when i,
once more,
re-evaluate.

in light of such a thought,
i marvel at
how little poetry
can be squeezed from a single life.

Finding the flow
The balance
The art
Of fulfillment
And letting go
Knowing when to say yes
When to say no
Self care at its best
Proof that I’ve grown.