Anxiety wraps
itself around me,

like a coat that
doesn’t fit me

like a lover that
doesn’t love me

like a fire that
doesn’t warm me

Drenched in feeling
Eyes drink the landscape

I could swear that each colour was
emotion-tinted
sorrow-toned
anguish-textured

How many stretched hours of living
made each heavy brush-scar?

What volume of rinsing tears
for each change of shade?

Why did the artist know instinctively that the people
were so small
in such a vast, pigment-thick world?

From this distance they feel like children
But I know that they are grown
At least on the outside

Agony
and aesthetics
amalgamate in
assembled alchemy

Are these thoughts
artist-intentioned
landscapist-birthed
painter-engineere­d?

Or are they my thoughts
reflected
by brush strokes?

Designed to elicit, not instruct
To return, not to teach
To cast-back, not to create

This open canvas
in muddy colours

A perfect, terrible mirror
Helping me gently
in my now softened
sadness

I believed in a preacher,
  when I was nine.
Who said he would, live to see
  the "end of time".
Through out history "Believers"
  have followed this "line".
He's now, long gone, and I'm
  pass, "my prime".
I, still search, for that, which
  we call, "Devine".
I believe, that task was always
  "meant to be mine".
Yet, to many, claim
   "This is The Sign"
I find: my  own,
      "LINE"

I will make films when I grow up. I will descend to madness when I grow up. I will give up when I grow up. I will travel the world when I grow up. I will call you when I grow up. I will fall in love when I grow up. I will create art when I grow up. I will run away to the woods when I grow up. I will cry when I grow up. All humanity has is art and grief. Don't let the art die or the grief perish. Underneath the sky of a thousand stars, we have made a home for ourselves. Poetry and music sustain our wounded souls. Don't let them die a million deaths like innocent men and women killed by innocent men and women. In the blank space of the universe, we all are equal. The hated and the hater are alike in status, imprisoned by false cages of philosophy, a quest long drawn since ancient times, searching for it in urban cityscapes. Cities where nobody cares to know your name, where we are trampled by the crowds. This is the home we have made for ourselves underneath the blanket of a thousand stars. There is no meaning in suffering. We suffer because we search for meaning. All our lives we try to get out of the prison only to be stuck in another prison. In between, moments of light. In between chaos, moments of calm. In between, moments of creation. Humans are art and yet so ugly. Humans are stardust yet their face belongs in the mud. Humans are so capable but so ruthless. Cities where freedom exists in the air. Houses side by side. Autumn shades. Haunted blues. Nostalgia. Music of the soul. What are we? What have we become? A million memories have created my body. A million imprints on my body. Run boy, run to the land of free. Run to the heavens for you have been lied to for your entire life. A life devoid of passion is meaningless. And passion must not be searched in empty spaces of human settlements rather the art our generations have left and will leave for all to see. Art is all that we have as a reflection of ourselves. Art is the proof that we existed and so did our restless hearts and passions. So many of us on this planet we call our home yet we still don't know the meaning of beauty, love or being human. So distracted we have become. Look for passion within. When you try to end your life, your suffering will hold you back. You hate your life yet it will save you. There are giant trees reaching to the sky and barren deserts filled with solitude and galaxies beyond comprehension and mountain peaks we haven't reached. The world is our oyster. It is us. It is the universe breathing in different forms. You are the spirit of the river, the resilience of the mountain and the branch of the tree. All life is connected. All life is suffering. Yet this suffering I enjoy. All that happens in life is life. All grief and love and passion and madness and anger and rage and excitement are akin to the throbbing ocean waves, the thunderstorm painting the sky, the mountain snow being melted. You and me, humanity and art are but one spirit, lost in space trying to reach out to each other, trying to find love in chaos, beauty in ugliness, peace in destruction. War is what gives me the most pain. To **** your own species is foolishness. The pain that she feels, I feel and that's why I must stand up for my fellow human beings. When a tree is uprooted from its home, I feel it's pain. The answer is to feel the suffering. Don't run away from it. Feel the passion. Feel the pain. Feel the magic. You and me, humanity and art are but one spirit, lost in space trying to reach out to each other, trying to love all that is and all that isn't.

Have you ever had an emotion surfaced after many years?
It's not the kind that brings you to tears
Rather It makes you clench your fist.
The kind that brings out your darkest side.
It needs to be tamed,
It needs to be chained.
The kind that terrifies your own soul.

It is best dealt on your knees in the quiet company of...
The One that is not visible to the human eye,
The only one capable of forgiving the seven deadly sins.
The provider of peace in the midst of the turmoil coming from within.

This time of year, I think, what would
   my Grandmother do?
A staunch Republican,
    thru and thru.
We walked her precincts
   together, a long hike,
Proudly, wearing, the buttons,
   "I like Ike."
Yet, Jesus was her strength,
   and guide.
With her former party,  
    would she still, side???

There’s more than one method to meet the divine
The road to salvation is not a straight line
Skeptics, recall
Worship no god at all
While the foolish insist that there’s no god but mine

We all seek it
In desperate, desperate want
Or maybe need?
We find clues
And/or red-scaled fish
Where the dark meets the light
And the right meets the wrong.
There’s a treasure for everyone
If we only have the strength
Or maybe weakness?
To search for it
Through wide and narrow
And shallow and deep.
We’ll find risk there
And emotions too
Or maybe our heart,
Long-lost and homesick?
Danger darkens there
But always brightens
On the light of hope.
Whatever we find
We are thankful for.
But the guardian who watches over
Marking places and keeping time
Will mark our lives
And keep our souls
Deep within the dusky depths.

There’s something in the way she looks down at me
The way I see myself in her,
Reflected against her craters
Like the light of the sun.

There’s a certain peace to the way we feel
On this fog-like clear night
When the harsh sun is gone,
The day’s trials fade,
And those little stars reemerge.

My eyelids are heavy
But so are hers
We are here and together
And that’s all we can wish for
In this life of less,
We have more.