There were days of the New Moon
Days of no Moon
When the sky opened up
Showing the slanted smile
Of an emerging Moon
Timing
Synchronicity
Fate, as you would have it.
The greatest influence from heavenly bodies
Left me at times with no words.

A whirlwind of leaves;
They reel for a moment while
Caught up in breath.

A whirlwind of lives;
They dance for a moment while
Caught up in death.

A whirlwind of thoughts;
They twist for a moment while
Caught up in youth.

A whirlwind of lies;
They spin for a moment while
Caught up in truth.

There once was a tree who fell for the wind.

He fell for her touch that sent a rustle through each and every leaf. He fell for her voice, quiet as a whisper; loud as the laughter contained in her breeze. He fell for her stories she told of places she'd been, from as far as across the sea or as near as the next little town. He fell for the taste of her scent; salty, sweet, floral, earthy, feminine, strong.

"Come with me, " she said in Spring as life in his new covering of leaves was emerging anew. But he could not move.

"Come with me," she said in Summer when his foliage was full and he was covered with emerging fruit. But he could not move.

"Come with me," she said in Autumn as his fruit was fully ripe and color brightening from greens to hues of red, yellow, and orange. But he still could not move.

"Come with me," she said when Winter's chill had settled in and his branches were bare. And even yet, he could not move.

She would come to him for years on end. She would whip around his bark; bark weathered by the repetition of endless seasons. His desire to fly with her was strong, but his roots were deep and held him tight.

"Stay with me," he thought. He dared not make this request out loud. He knew he could no more ask this of her than he could uproot himself and fly away with her. She was free; she was the ethereal spirit to his solidity. To try to keep her as his alone was futile and imprisoning.

All he could do was dance in her midst. When she softly whispered, he leaned and swayed. When she blew in with a fury, he would twist his limbs to match. It was all he could do.

And dance, he did, and dance he would do, until the day his roots weaken and wither, his limbs bear no more leaves, his fruit goes bare, and he would fall for her one last time. And carried by her unseen wings, finally fly.

We
make
our own
destinies.
We hang our own stars;
imposters against the darkness,
hung on interstellar backdrops of infinite truth.

Cut from scene.

White words on a background of black.
My silence written,
Said in unheard extravagance by emotive nobodies.

I am nobody.

"I didn't need you, I wanted you.
I didn't just like you, I loved you.
You had not only my heart, but my soul.
I put my trust in your hands."

Cut to scene.

Damsels fall on celluloid screens and sprawl on crimson carpets.
Heroes don't always win.
Sometimes villains ride over horizons
To a symphony of echoing applause.

Fade to black.

I stood in the falling snow, hearing the hushed roar of innumerable flakes swishing past my ears in their random plummet; their collective crash as they slammed into earth. It's a quiet roar. It's a loud whisper. It's a cacophony of crystalline chaos, beautiful in its silent symphony. As the flakes hit the layer of unraked leaves of Fall, with a pit-pat, pit-pat, browns turned to white. They covered the dormant grasses, asleep until Spring, turning yellows to softening ivory. The song switched as the snow piled layer upon layer on this sleepy land, the tune turning from the tinny clatter of clear crystal to a muffled sound of falling cotton.

I stood in this snowfall beyond my threshold of tolerance. Snow is beautiful, but cold and wet, and yet I remained, through the wind chilling my bones. I remained, through the melting snow that found its way under the collar of my coat and over the rim of my shoes. I shivered as I stood and as I stood, I listened. I shushed my inner battles and listened for inner peace. I quieted myself and listened to the world outside. Aside from its song, I listened for clarity.

I listened for answers to questions unasked.
I listened for voices from faces unmasked.
I heard but a whimper, as the snow turned to slush.
I heard my soul speaking, whispering, "Hush."

"Quiet the world for just a moment in time. Quiet the worries that do nothing but cause grief. Look into silence and hear your reflection."

I stood there. I stood and listened and looked. Snow covered the trees and the road that was recently clear was now blanketed as well. No cars, just building layers of Nature's cold majesty making thoughts of getting to work in the morning just that; merely thoughts. And just like the grey of the sky, nothing was clear. Just lovely white noise...

And even now, in a bed of blankets, I know
Outside, there's still falling snow.
And as I saw before the darkness of my room,
The window showed a brightness in the night's gloom.
The whole of the land is luminous white,
Snow still falling,
Song still calling,
A song that still plays into the night.

And a hush as I turn out the light...

I fight sleep all the time
perhaps thinking I'll miss out on
Life
But what really happens
is that I miss out on
Sleep
So, since sleep is a part of
Life
By staying awake
I'm also missing out on
Life