i think i’ve grown comfortable
with my own suffering.
        surviving,
                       and only surviving,
for so long-
anything else feels
                                       alien and discordant.
it still makes the future fuzzy,


out of reach.


it overwhelms me.
drowns hope.
scars and blood
bring me back to focus;
but slipping hasn’t happened here.
grounding has come
in mountain peaks,
desert heat,
the mist coming off the sea.
stagnancy will eventually return
and that will leave me in limbo.
i only dream to keep
peace with the sweeping land,
making hope grow anew.
watering the forest in my chest.
keeping the fire of my soul from becoming all-consuming.

if heaven is real, it's an open road
it's a place I've been on far off travels
where the light hits right and the sun is warm, like the love of a friend
it's a moment in time where you remember
that the world is a beautiful place
despite the cruelty, agony, and pain
it's the eye-shine on a deer amidst a
nighttime field, the headlights pass over
it's the vision of a birdshadow crossing overhead, or landing beside you
like an angel checking in
beady eyes bright with intelligence
letting you know heaven is happiness
and nothing more, nothing less

perhaps i am just
a harbinger;
a bringer of things
making way for a
breakthrough.

in this i myself am not lost;
accepting the change
natural to life,
being one with a
catalyst.

sharpened teeth,
curving thorns,
knowing and prescient;
no prophet nor god,
simply something          
                     monstrous.
looming.
majestic and terrifying.

from the rose bush
and her bloodied thorns:

a reminder that blindly grabbing
for the plush flowers of
life, love, and future ?
means sacrifice.
yet all grow shocked,
gasping aghast
when they are pricked.

                        when blood is drawn.


                                                                                 when change occurs.