A quiet murmur
A gentle breeze
A person weaves through a crowd
With grace and ease

A silent breath
A sinister shuffle
A person follows behind
With intent to start a scuffle

A whispered word
A silent exclamation
A person watches
With awed fascination

A silent fight
A will of iron
A person loses focus
With the wail of a siren

A sudden scramble
A runaway
A person locks the door
With life for another day

A sigh of relief
A pounding heart
A person who has no defense
With resolution to start

A gentle breeze
A quiet whimper
A person dreams
With a voice like a whisper

Inside craters of mind I wander,
feeling fumes of dark energies rise.

Shadow figures embark
attempting to take sanity,
trying to drown self in sea of sorrows
where pity is infused in undertow.

Breath of inner resolve circles within
building momentum,
as standing position is taken
to conquer negativity.

Reprograming process commences
as craters become basins of light.
Deep breath integrates voice
saying farewell to dark
Hello to self love.

Inside pause under moon rays,
warrior within takes over.
Affirmations fly
as each word
is knife of power. cutting away dark.
“I’m a trooper who shall never give up.”
“I will conquer demons from past lives.”
“I believe in self and am sacred.”

Canyon of heart resonates
with power phases enkindling peace,
in all cells as mind pattens of past sadness
find exit route with another breath.

Light hugs inside delicate song
ridding self of baggage of loneliness.

And freedom rings while heartbeats plays
Never alone. Never alone, evermore.

You are more than you see
A child stares at the movie screen
Strutting with the confidence of a cowboy
Imagining the characters that pops off the watercolor pages
As they jump up and down in their onesie
Holding tight to their plushy sidekick
That seems to whisper an end to moon landings
With every inch taller
You gaze at your potential like it sits on Everest's summit
So discouragingly out of reach
Your disappointment juts into your dreams
And makes you feel like the pinnacle of your being
Will only amount to a mound of dirt
But that isn't true
Every time you stand with the legs
That hold a rallying cry in its gait
Of the kind of independence
penned by our founding fathers
as an unalienable right
You gain footing
Up the rock face
That stuck its rocky tongue out at you
From the jester's thrown below
But you are far from a joke
A riddle maybe
The kind that a sphinx would lovingly smirk at
Its tail thumping with an instinctive eye roll
Mixed with the gaze of Eskimo kisses
Your hand holds lie
In the reach
That pulls you closer to the jewels
That dot the edges of your resolves
A bell ringing in the background
You're an angel who deserves their wings
And flying is falling
The first time a bird leaves the nest

How do you prove an immunity to
a recurringly exhumed seclusion
when the noise of static, so intrusive when unmuted, easily confuses
and a skewed view produces only illusion's futile ruses?
Can't hands, seamlessly and when misguided, be abusive
from refusing their own bruises and contusions,
manifest and fuse into a multitude of misconstrued, misled misuses?
Yet I will argue choosing to humor the tune communicating through the intuitive music and movement that amuses-
what is heard echoes clues for harmony and hallowed union's
mutual congruence,
even in the crudest beauty and pursuit of human improvement and what we knew, uprooted.
Doubt, when reducing to delusions, always loses when refuted,
and though humility means fragile ****** included,
elusive truths all allude to an absolution through this-
what diffuses, what we keep, and how we do it the conclusion.