i had always believed
the beauty of the stars
glittering the night sky
could not be surpassed
but those other galaxies
swirling and rutilated
within the moss agate
of her ringed irises
showed me once again
how little i knew

You,
My love,
Are a walking galaxy.
So full of beauty,
Mystery,
And passion.
You,
My love,
Are a walking miracle;
The entire cosmos in a single being.
You,
My love,
Have the universe in your eyes,
The stars in your soul,
And stardust in your bones.
You,
My love,
Are brilliant in every way.
Remember that the next time
Anyone makes you feel
Any less than what you are

A cool and close mist
Hangs over the highland shrubs and trees
Wild and tall grasses bend heavy
Laden with the chill dew
of a perpetually hidden dawn
10 lifetimes of experiences
Have I gathered since I entered here
I feel it was but a few hours ago
Though I have not seen the sun
Nor has the darkness of night
Yet begun to creep into these woods
Maybe from a dream or perhaps
I passed it earlier this strange house
A ***** place with slanted roof and chimney
Sticking out of the earth in such a way
That it appeared to be a natural growth
I feel as though it is so very familiar
Though I cannot say why
Or why no matter the direction I turn
Or for how long I walk
I come unto its doorstep again and again
In my mind it has replaced my own home
If ever I did have another
And whoever might have been waiting there
I have long since forgotten
Yet when I reach this house
Time and time again
I cannot muster the courage to reach out
To take hold of the handle and turn it
To enter in to that abode
And here I come again
I see it emerge out of the gentle fog
Comfortably nestled on a hillside
I stand for a moment at the gate
The walk through it and up the long path
Interspersed with a step or two here and there
As it turned inwards and outwards
Ascending the hill into the home’s entrance
In a moment I stood at the door yet again
Hand half outstretched towards the ****
I placed my hand upon it
Feeling the cool of brass
Yet the warmth of something else
Something half remembered from youth
From years long since entwined with dreams
I turned the **** gently
Not yet feeling the click of the lock
I felt a fresh wind at my back
And I rather spontaneously
Wrenched my hand and wrist
All the way to the right
I could feel the weight of the door
Unhindered by any lock or stop
And I pushed it open
That mighty wooden thing
And was greeted by a deepening night
Full of countless radiant stars.

Trying to navigate these bumpy waves,
While maintaining my gaze with my goals.
It's more difficult than the past me could've ever known.

There's a long dotted line that swerves along my map.
I've marked each stop for when I'll take naps,
but I'm still struggling with unexpected crashes.

A wave flips my boat and and it feels like a million minutes go by
Before I patch things up and things feel okay inside.

It feels like a tear in my map,
the map that lines my heart.
How do you recover when someone from your crew falls overboard?

What if something embarrassing happens during my journey and I can't press restart?
These are the kinds of questions I stay up all night asking the stars.

Silent stars reside
In the blue milieu
Continuing their stellar constancy by day.
They are there like my love,
silent, unpretentious, patient and kind. Trace your finger along the sky, like a constellation connecting the dots of your name to a safe, congenial and forgiving place to call home.

Maybe your name will meet with mine in the night when the stars return, walking across the expanse of loving kindness that is within your reach. See you tonight dearest one. Just look up.

The world he lives in is small.
Black waves lap at the shores of vapid sand
As clouds hold their place overhead.

The promises etched on his spine,
In the most faraway places —
He couldn't read them.

He runs his hands along the pale green barrier,
Feeling its imperfections sprint along
His fingertips.

The walls close in — and it's sad here.

He screams, he screams,
Each gasp a breath of tombstone air,
Each thrash an electric abstinence from thought.

What flavours describe the tendrils of his soul?
The red-stained weeds that grew over bare feet
Now trap him.

There is poetry to be found in a little life,
But the gravity of supposition weighed too heavy.
So he sits — counting the dark stars.

The walls close in — and it's sad here.

Not my strongest work,
but this is my first poem since March.
Irrational fears

Sometimes, I look up at the stars and ask "where do I go from here?"
But the only answers that are ever offered
Come from my Irrational fears