The sand shifts beneath your feet,
Your heart relaxes to a quiet beat,
The waters seem to breathe day and night,
Close your eyes take it in do not fight,
The wind satisfies your soul,
Just relax now you've played your role,
Touch the sand now scoop it up,
Hold it in your hands and form a cup,
Now let it seep through towards the sandy ground,
Your soul was lost but now its found,
The weather you desire will come your way,
Just stand closer to the bay,
Soon life will be eternal for you and me,
Look beyond the ocean and tell me what you see.
                          -open heart poetry

Thinking about getting a tattoo
But, I take pause...
Looking in the mirror
I see my body’s already covered
Marked in invisible ink
Every inch of my bare skin
Painted with the joy and pain of living
From my heart to my hips
Color faded here, but poppin’ over there
Memories designed by your hands
Others etched on my own
A collection that makes me smile
Among a few pieces I regret
So, about getting a tattoo...
I guess I’m not ready
Because I can’t think of a tattoo
Meaningful enough, yet
To write over any of the life I’ve lived

Make up your Mind —
You are everything but Blind —
We were so much aligned —
Memories I may not Remind.—-
Cant leave them Behind. — -
I do understand your mind.
But you cant leave me Quarantined.

The clock always
moves slower
when you arrival is nigh,
it's as if time conspires
to delay our high;
but for the dwell on your appear there isn't room:
you'll be here instantly,
sometime,
soon.

why so sensitive you are,
when you see a toilet sign,
when they say here go the men
and there the women.
be all pretty or be strong.
you drink ***** or some wine...

why break down every time,
why flinch at the sound,
why feel your stomach twist inside,
and brain screaming in protest?

‘you are making it all up’ they say,
but you fight your own self every day.
you are powerless and tired –
your strength and spirit fades.

will you endure,
and see a better end?

The rich do it,
And so do the poor.

The greatest, The brightest,
All nothing more

Than a wick, ignited
And struggling for

More air;
More time to discern

What will happen
When there's nothing left to burn.