Life molds you into a shapeshifting mess.
One stumbles through different tribulations, and the soul diversifies as the years pass.
You turn into different versions of yourself.
It’s like treading through hell, but you taste heaven at the same time.
It’s not a choice, it’s a requirement.
Its like drinking liquid gold. The concept is luxurious, but it kills you so deliberately.
A beautiful solemnity?
Emotions so immense.
It hurts so much to breathe, to exist, yet you need to stay, you stay because of love. We suffer to exert empathy. Love is the cutlass that impales deeply.
It cuts far, it makes you bleed profusely, but it feels so good.
It just feels so good.
Is there a point to it all in the very end?
Happiness seems temporary. Chasing it is like the drop you feel when the veil is pulled from under your foundation; long, scary.
Happiness is the rarest paragon.
The heart, heavy and the mind, full.
Wondering day after day.
Who will understand me, touch me, sense me.
Wonder, keep wondering.
Wonder possesses you.
Wonder keeps watching you.
Wonder doesn’t let go, it comes to watch you die.
That’s the why, that’s the death.
Life will never give you an answer.

I breathe in your fragrance
I blow out a field of freesias and forget me nots
I catch your smile with my hand
and release swallows and sunsets
I turn your eyes into stars
the night your sweetest silence

i wander wonder thrive and plunder
steal **** expel in thunder
the i i am am manifest god

Walnut trees release spent leaves
Shower me in summertime past.
Miles of unpaved roads-
meandering.

******* wonder mind
walks the streets at midnight
with a spray can and brush

canvas the world
approval does not matter
they do they boo

hope meaningless
is is is that's all
a condition of existence

a consistent emptiness
to be filled with they
and the earth moves

I told her: I know of such a place,
where the cats all come to die.
I asked her: do you want to see it?
She answered: no.
I told her: it's clean and it's important.
I told her: it's bright and it's first.
I asked her: do you want to see it?
She answered: no.
She said it in such a way
that I had to turn away from her.
Ever since then
I am slowly
approaching the exit.

You gave back only a fraction of what I gave. Leaving me to wonder where all the other pieces went.

And I gave you all of me.

When a soldier marches, where does his focus go?
Forward? To glory or doom?
His mind filled with stories of honour and pride of wars long ago?

Backward? Of the life, they left behind?
To the wife, the child back home?
The medals to be shown as trinkets or to speak never more?

Have they ever stopped to look around? Of the country, to be or not to be? The mountains, the rivers, the towns and to the sea.
The damage to be caused? The life preserved?

Regardless, the solider marches

I saw a dream
once upon a time.
Don’t know when
but often it seems
as old as time.

Until comes the interpreter
goodness knows
where that’s feet are.
No one was primping
but the meaning shows up
all in all is a mirror.

Oh, when did it all begin?
Now, looking at the mirror
often it makes me wonder,
is there a past or future,
besides an omnipresent like now
truly a full moon picture.