Traveling through dunes of sand
You'll find in the dusty corners of my mind
There is a door
Behind that door
The Glory of God is no more
The water is gone
And the prayers we pray
Are not heard.
It's wooden and worn
The floorboards leak through my eyes
Through my fingertips, and through my mouth.
Why give this corner such power?
Cause this corner has power over me.
Defining lines and colors
Speaking little things to me
Hoping I go back.

Show me the beach again
I have not seen such blue in so long
Take me back to the stones along the ocean floor
Paddle in hand we push ourselves further out
I slide in
Salt water on my tongue, sweat and sea
We lost the footage from the GoPro
But I remember like it were yesterday,
Pale legs below
Swallowed by the seaweed
Fear of fish, of going out too far
But you are there
Frustrated with my antics
Stuck in the boat
You do not want to dive in
But I persuade you
To escape the sun.
The water is warm
Welcoming
You dive deeper than I can
You disappear
Then bob back up
Climb into the boat
And we return to shore.

Is this the end or is this where it begins,
a mirage of happiness and dream.
Who to ask? , whom to believe,
cause a mirage is always a tease.  
Like the treacherously empty sand,
always slipping away from the hand.
We all are trying to give our best, trying to seize,
but the monster within us is a freak,
he always brings us on our knees.
Negative thoughts surround us like diseases,  
rules of this world seem never to please,
we could never be at ease.
our soul from this world could never be released,
still, our existence will cease,
but all around the world will never be in peace.

damp grass from the hillside
is cold on my feet as I walk
hands in my pockets and head looking down
legs leading slowly downhill
towards the sea.

There's something about going for a walk
that makes it easier to think
even if you completely ignore your surroundings
or don't go very far.

The sand surprises me
the soft white powder that shifts between my toes
and my feet slip a little with every step.

For the first time in a while, I look up
the sea is darker than usual, it's turbulent as well,
but I stop for a moment on the edge of the water.

Imagine If I fell in
I'd probably turn into driftwood and then just float off
until the water pushed me up onto some deserted beach
and then pulled me back in
and then pushed me up again
eternally caught in the space between sea and shore

the space between here and there
between is and isn't
between impulse and inactivity

I'm already there.

"A Psalm of Life" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!APsalmof_Life

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;—

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.