We chose to be caught,
Swirling in this vortex,
With our crystalline eyes
Closed, or open—

innocence,
violence.

I remember clearly,
A flirt. A touch. A kiss.
I flew with my mind,
I loved it wet—

but you couldn’t love it then,
you couldn't even hate it,
you hate it now, looking back

We found ourselves
Spinning in the spiral
Of something we chose—
It was our own will,
Unbreakable by anyone,

though it had happened before:
you were torn apart like paper.

and now you are here,
gluing with gold the shattered pieces

Of the beautiful being you are,
Of the beautiful thing you swear to be,
Of the beautiful child you see,
When you look into the mirror
With your eyes wide open.

(Why do you look at drinking as such a nasty thing?)

Oh, no reason.
It’s a silly little beverage,
That twisted and turned,
My childhood to shambles,
All because it was who ‘he’ was.

Oh, you’re right,
I’m just being dramatic,
It was just my innocence,
After all,
Silly me.

WILLPOWER IS WHITE MAGIC
YOUR DREAMS WILL SURRENDER TO YOU!!!
WHY CAN'T
YOU CAST
A SPELL
ON YOU!?!

I was forged from the fire of will
I burn bright
To signal a new hope
To instill

Before I could move I laid very still,
Drawing breath seconds settling as snowfall,
Alone except for a cast iron will,
Waiting for the moment that I could crawl,

Somewhere I might drag myself to my feet,
To stand firm sheltered beneath drifted time,
Defying both gravity and defeat,
Just me and this cast iron will of mine,

Before I chose to be still I could move,
I roamed where I wished tasted love sublime,
Gone now is the one who would heal and soothe,
Returned to source like snowflakes, tears of brine,

Before I could move I had to be still,
Remember my strength my cast iron will.

to thunder, the pond swells
in summer, it diminishes
when its streams and brooks die
a thousand plants-
and a hundred fish-
rot and swelter in it

to rain, it lives and breathes
the ebb and flow of raindrops
when from its banks break
a thousand droplets-
a hundred streams-
blooms in its spirit

men wait not for the rain,
nor does he diminish in heat
in his soul contained to find,
a great typhoon-
angered by his passion,
calmed when he sulks

in each awaits catastrophe,
one as different, none the same-
all as fated to start as one
feel the wind, heat, and rain
feel it now, again and again