Sleepless dreaming, framed by screaming.
Is she breathing?
Take the time.
One. Two. Three.
I wonder…
Four. Five.
Is death kind?
Six. Seven.
Will she make it?
Eight. Nine.
Never mind.
Marble eyes roll in their pockets,
Arms and legs seizing their sockets,
Groaning breath sends lips aquiver,
Her tiny figure writhes and shivers.
Ten. Eleven
How much longer?
Twelve. Dear God!
Let her be stronger.
A Toneless voice of mock assurance,
Won’t deter these pulsing currents,
Tongues detained by ball and chain,
Massage the air to ease the pain.
Thirteen comes.
Now slowly, easy.
Fourteen.
The sound of gentle breathing.
Dimple-drawn, her mouths sweet boarders,
Pull that weak smile from its cask,
Inhale relief, a hard won nectar,
Her limbs all leaded from their task.
One nod from death,
one swift departure
and for the moment, all is fine.
The clock's cold hands
continue turning,
So don't forget to take the time.

Imagine, for a moment, that which you have only seen
In reflections, distortion, words disproportionately
Silting, spilt into the slits of your eyes
Reflections, collections, of hazarded half-truths
They capture your form, but they can’t capture you
Perhaps, that is why
You don’t understand.
Perhaps…it is because
You have never seen your soul.
I have.
You are shattered in sharp little pieces,
Stained with blood from the hands which try to claim them.
It’s ****** and grand, do you now understand?
It is enough
for you to be.
It is mindless isn’t it?
Sickening.
That someone could love you for just being.
That this soma, this shell, this imperfect display
Can so effortlessly express an unquantifiable goodness.
You didn't choose to exist
to be
to be loved
Does it hurt to be loved?

Through the withered branches
where the verdant leaves once grew,
I stared up at the old oak tree
against a sky of blue.

The branches stretched to heaven
as a supplicant might do.
It seemed to pray, as if to say,
"My time at last is through."

I wondered at the gnarly trunk
and limbs of twisted wood
And for a moment thought of life
and almost understood.

Life and death go hand in hand.  
Our time is our's to spend.
But like the tree against the gale,
‘tis better if we bend.

I'll pay it forward when I can.  
Thy brothers' keeper be.
I'll keep the roots well watered
and learn the lessons of the tree.

It shares the world with nestlings
and it's acorns oft abound,
To feed the hungry denizens
that glean them from the ground.

It's leaves give shade to those below.  
It's branches form a gym.
Children climb to see the world
and love this gift to them.

And as I watched, the farmer
came and laid the old husk low.
Firewood now, would be it's fate
and make the chimney glow.

Ashes unto ashes and to dust
we must return.
All of life in cycle goes
and from this I hope to learn:

This gift of life to all below,
all creatures great and small,
Is just a stop upon the trip
we travel, one and all.