this is your story
do not be ashamed
may this be the telling of your journey
let your hands open up like gates
and your fingers flow like streams
your plams, the palette on which you walk
the ground on which you scrape up paint
and you stroke your fingers
against the canvas your Creator has made
so may forests grow
and mountains be lifted
may oceans part
and the waters be stilled
by gentle kisses of reminiscence
and the introspection
of our heart's rythmic hum
all by the grace and power of God
because these poems are your story
so do not be ashamed
instead, may this be the telling of His glory

We have done something wonderful
for all these months we poured
our blood, sweat and tears
to achieve perfection
to claim honor
to find my purpose
but
after all we have accomplished
why do I feel my soul getting more hollow
why am I back to square one
a place thats curse I have thought to be undone

The best things in life
Are those which lack purpose.
There is no reason to go for a walk,
To watch the stars, shine in the sky
Or view the morning sunrise.
Yet we still perform these actions,
And find comfort
In the ungraspable benefits.

During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean ******'s annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles

Content I was amassing worn seashells;
monthly did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel

Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck

Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not merry until married.

Take a walk alone,
On these desert rocks,
Let yourself be stranded,
From everything you’re not,
For where there’s one,
There can be two,
So let me be empty,
Like the desert I walk through,

Give up all you know,
Of who you think you are,
Release these captured echoes,
At the edges of your heart,
And don’t feel bad for those,
Who’ve yet to have a drink,
Better to be empty,
When the watchful sky will wink.

the cascade of clear blue falls even in the midst of the furvous night
the call of a bird echoes cross canyons composed of ages of old
the glint off amber cliffs calls to the reflection of ancience
floors of sandstone riddled with stagnant ghosts of footprints
these paths were once walked by those larger than life

we search for purpose radiometrically
estimating the desperation in the dating
allowing our hearts to sink to an endless expanse of unexplored sediment
grasping onto the aching for the pleasure beneath the pain
self decay feels natural at the bottom of the ocean

peace comes naturally while disappearing into pieces
it will find me upon the return of the rogue daughter to the expanse in which she belongs
may my atomic descendents one day hold the fossils of my being between their fingers
let the earth shake under the feet of whom possesses my bones
and let them keep digging, let them excavate all of us whole