These cold days,
Poetry is all I've got.
Where snow falls solemnly from looming clouds,
The only thing I surround myself with are words.
I miss the spring city,
Nothing could penetrate my armor of love.
For now that December has made it's descent, I am left in winter song,
Alas, for poetry, who's warm heart could melt the ice of sorrow.
Where will the fae dance tonight?
For reading poetry it makes my heart soar, and it makes my heart sore.
Snowflakes lace the winter grave of Autumn leaves,
And poetry, a silent goddess in the wind, has captured my tongue.
Where is the sun? In this winter's song,
For poems are the light in my dark.
Cold, the fingers that hold my pen,
Verse warms my soul.
Where am I? In this winter's song.

Every day when I walk I look up to the sky
And I wonder, where are they going tonight?
Carried on the contrails of planes passing by,
I dream of where I might go on that flight.
I ask, how did I wind up in this peculiar land?
My passport home, where I feel I’m a stranger
Where proverbial ground moves right where I stand,
I can’t shake this feeling of impending danger.
I look to the contrails, and I just want to fly,
But, wherever they go, I just won’t belong,
Then ... another contrail catches my eye,
And into my daydreams again I am drawn
I wonder if there’s ever a place I’ll call home
Nowhere, or anywhere the contrails might go.

in this mind
forever wandering
lots of repetition

I’m starting to believe that this nomadic lifestyle
Ain’t at all for the faint of heart
Thousands of places in so little time
Exhausted but I can’t stop yet as no one place holds extreme value to me
Footprints in the sand tell a story of where I’ve been
Darkness engulfs me and makes it harder to decide where to begin
Perhaps I should just ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ it
Since stopping isn’t nearly as important
Thoughts clutter my walkway like precious gems covered by a recent sandstorm
Disgruntled, I glance out over my shoulder
Listening for the whisper of the wind to call out to me
But wait… I’m getting a head of myself
That’s dangerous when you’re a nomad
Whatever is waiting around the next bend
A mystery waiting to be unveiled
Like a grieving widow, mourning her sanity
I run
Disjointed from reality
I feel no pain
Opinions stabbing me like shards of glass
Dripping with the blood of identity
I’m a fraud… and yet, on I run
The tears I’ve cried flow through this deserted land like the Nile
It’s ingenious
They nurture my steps
A suckling waiting to be fed
I travel the worn path
night and day day and night
Stopping only to mark my place
I’ve been here before
And I never even left the comfort of my bed
This journey of a thousand steps
Inside my ever restless mind

Weary is the wanderer who travels with no true destination,
Hesitant is the past he's abandoned home,
Unconscious is his pursuit with no avail,
Forgotten is her memory as he treads sporadically; endless turmoil.

Helping a child with a mental illness and co-occurring disorder such as substance abuse disorder. Our little diamonds who grow up with a broken mind.

Diamonds are in the rough. How long does it take to mine a diamond?

If you as a parent do not have any tools, you will have bloodied hands and feet  and never will you get to where your child can shine without the addictive source.

Diamonds are found in many ways, but to communicate with the diamond, the ore around it is crushed and milled.

Diamonds repel water, but are drawn to grease.

Expect to get down and ***** when helping your addict, but DO NOT, go into the pit. You will be of no help once you are in.