Fading stars
Hazy gray
Soft feet creeping
Wait for light of day
Blazing colors warm the skin
Silently.
Blinding sphere of light rise up
Brilliantly.
Waiting calm
Breeze and trees.
Sing-song
Feathers light.
Snap.
A branch
The crunch of leaves.
Dainty-quiet
As you please.
Silk-smooth fur
Soft brown eyes
Looking up.

Slender and graceful
Do I dare?
Need to survive
Tender and tasteful
Deep breath
Ready.
Focus. Concentration.
Aim.
Steady now, not a sound.
Explosion.

Your heart is so big. The capacity within it; seemingly endless. It is filled with caverns, rooms, channels and layers. Stories and ideas, songs and poems, memories soaked in pain yet dipped in beauty. Whispers and giggles and shrieks and howling and melodies and moans all resonate in the halls and leak through on the wind. I stand, gazing at this labyrinth that is you. And there is an adventurous part of me that aches to explore its depths; to know every variety of yourself within. I approach, grimacing as I reach out one hand, and hesitantly knock on the gate of its great walls. My breath is held; hoping for acceptance, dreading rejection. I know you may not wish to, but you must share all this with someone. Have you heard what happens to those who refuse to open their doors? To trust? They barricade themselves in this endless mansion and become lost within. They are alone. And when they walk into a dark room and the door closes behind them, no one is there to hear their cries; to open the door and pull them back into the light. That is why I have been sent to you. The keeper of your heart has searched me and known my ways. He has deemed me not only worthy of your trust, but necessary. So please, let me in. Open the gates. As each second ticks by, slower than the last, I begin to fear I have been shunned. This is my calling. My purpose. My own heart has finally had the doors flung open, the walls torn down, and the contents are flooding out; a raging hurricane of myself finally set free. I need somewhere for that flood of me to go. If I try to hold it in any longer, I will burst: shatter. Please! Take my love! I will trade you. I beg you for your burdens. I long for your loneliness. I will share your scars and love your longing. Let. Me. In. At last, movement. The rusted gates groan in protest as they are forced open after so many years of stoic rejection: standing unmoved. They grate far enough apart for me to squeeze through and dart inside. I am met by endless corridors, vast hallways lined with doors leading to every emotion, experience and thought you have ever dwelt on. Golden rays of sunshine behind one door, a forest full of giggles and children and innocence. I run and laugh with those sweet young faces, caressed by the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. Behind the very next door, I am plunged into a blackness deeper than a clouded night. I fall into a deep pit, landing on jagged rocks and shards of broken hopes. Crouched in the corner, trembling and alone, with tear streaks down their face, is you. My heart swells in my chest, and I know: this is the moment for which I have been prepared. I kneel before you, taking your cold hands in my own. Our Father wants you to come home now. Follow me. You are terrified; I see it in your frantic glances. But here, I have something that will help. I am entrusting you with my own heart, here in the depths of your own. Let the hope I have received be a light in this darkness. Let my trust and vulnerability inspire your own. I couldn't hold it back anymore even if I wanted to. And with that, the last piece of my wall crumbled down. An outpouring of love, peace, joy and hope flooded the pit, filling it to overflowing. We sailed out into the sunlight, hand in hand. As we ran into the meadow, our eyes looked up and locked with the Father’s. And as we were swept into his embrace, our hearts were made whole for the first time. I glanced at you, my kin, hopefully expectant of the life we would share: in the light.

My precious little boy, what has you so troubled? It is late, terribly late. In fact, at this point I think we can say it is early. We are both exhausted and in much need of sleep; yet you insist on bashing my thoughts into the wall of my cranium even now. I know it hurts, my dear. I feel the aches and pain as sharp and clear as you do. That hollow, wracking sound clinking around under you? That just where my heart goes, ***; don't worry about it. Listen, I love a good riddle just as much as the next guy: but now is not the time to solve the one of our topsy-turvy life, ok? Alright then. So why don't you climb down off that wall and tuck in till the sunshine shows her face again?
Oh my foolish child, you won't ever listen to anyone but yourself. Well, if you are going that direction anyhow, be sure and give everyone my love. That's the beautiful thing about you, sweet pea. You are comprised of memories; ones where all those whom I cherish are still in my life and arms and eye. So, like I said, if you insist on visiting them all right now, just make sure those perfect moments get a proper greeting. Oh... I have to come with you... that's right. Well, it can't be helped I suppose, but you should know that I couldn't get my heart to sleep either with all her crying; we’ll just have to bring her with since she's still up. Come on you two, let's get this over with so we can all get some shut-eye. Hold my hands now, and whatever happens: don't get lost here!

These walls are ringing with laughter
They are drenched in tears and soaked in pain
They sigh with the weight of a lifetime of memories
They are saturated with stories and songs
They breath the cry of a baby; the lilt of a father’s voice
These wall are stained with struggle, scratched and dented with trials and feuds.
They cling to the paint that peels away to expose the mold of mistakes made
Fractured and cracked tiles tried to reconcile and found forgiveness in the art of their flaws.
Creaking stairs groan with the desperate prayers that shattered the air in the depths of despair and brought healing.
The ceiling is reeling with the feeling of kneeling before the King as one member and crying out:
This is our house. Our home: where Satan will roam no longer and we are made stronger as we sing to the King as family.
Now here I stand, my hand memorizing the land I was raised in. Each grain, divot and angle is a sliver of my mind. I am frozen in time as I rewind through the blinds and find myself near the kitchen shelf, where food no longer lingers. My fingers scan the sink: I think of how we'd drink straight from the faucet, my mom's voice yelling “stop it!”
Dissonant notes drift from the phantom piano in my mind. A child's hands land on the ivory, making chords and strands of a melody. She turns to grin at her feat as loving parents treat her to praise for her serenade. The crackle of flames as we played board games, waves of heat to beat the winter cold and bold flecks of snow flying with our dice on the carpet. A cry upstairs leads to pairs of frightened eyes in the dark of night. Pattering feet make a hasty retreat to the safety of daddy's strong arms and mommy’s protection from harm between the blankets and pillows. A golden sunrise leads to adventures outside; trees to climb and bikes to ride, mermaids and cowboys, escaped slaves and so many toys. Rustling leaves shed buds of green; lapping waves on sandy beaches, sunshine days full of ice cream with peaches. A million laughs and a thousand hugs, cake in the bath with a bubble filled tub. Sights and sounds and smells of the past, and I'm the last to feel this memory so real. Grazed walls and scratched floors full of knicks and dents meant to tell stories and prevent us from forgetfulness. I soak in the lifetime of love that's been lived inside these four walls as I walk down the hall. I'm here at the door for the last time it seems. This whole dreadful process feels like a bad dream as the seams of my mind strain to drag out the time. But the tick of the clock resounds as the lock clicks and my life is quickly drug away to lay in the way of another child who will play in this place. And in my mind, these walls I have loved all my life have just crumbled and fallen and died.

Who am I?
A whispering babe amidst ten thousands shouts and screams of bloodthirsty warriors.
The gentle nudging of a fawn's tender nose against the brazen rack of her father’s antlers.
I am a wayward summer breeze, getting lost in the winds of a hurricane.
A single drop of wine thrown into a sea of water, longing to be tasted on your lips, untraceable in this vast expanse.
I am every blazing sunrise you slept  through and never got the chance to cherish.
I am each tree left unclimbed, each trail you never turned aside to explore.
I am the waters too deep for your shallow lungs to reach; the ocean floor you only dream of.
I am the tip of every mountain this planet has forced up from the depths: and though you know it is impossible, a hidden part of you longs to stand atop each one of them. That is me.
I am the secret locked in the crystals of a snowflake; and no two hold the same treasure.
I am the hidden variance of a delightful scent in every flower petal.
I am the countries, cultures and corners of
The earth you have never seen or known.
Any time you glimpse a view of the galaxies and ponder to whom this splendor belongs, it is my eyes you gaze at.
Each moment you spend longing for something more, yet not knowing what, is a piece of me in you.
I am so much more than a feeling.
So much more than a though.
I am necessity.
I am your audacity.
I am a force to be reckoned with; something that lingers in your soul long after the music has ceased to resonate.
I am the wailing cry of the heart of humanity: the voice that every mind screams, yet every ear is deaf to.
There is, always has been, and forever will be an inherent need for me. For without me, all of creation would fade away. Without exploration, discovery, and mystery, we would surely perish.
So here I am: pounding on the walls around your spirit with desperate, bloodied fists, begging to be let in. I will persist. I will prevail. Because it is essential. You need me more than the very air you breath, whether you should ever realize it or not. Because without me, you can go about your life alive- but not living.
Who am I?
I
Am
Wanderlust.

I have been misplaced. I wander through a wilderness of population and insanity. To be lost in the woods is a blessing; a thrilling adventure full of serenity and life. But to find oneself entangled in this city? I cannot stand it. Traffic rages around me: an ever present roar of engines and anger. The harsh, whining lights glare off dusty blacktop and blot out the stars that once calmed my soul. Glazed eyes are made aware of my presence, yet do not recognize the human being behind my body. I am simply a face. An object. Something to be honked at, passed over, jostled out of the way. Stone faces and cinder block hearts are hidden behind streetlight stares shut up in mansions of separation. Fear, depression, anxiety and violence run rampant on the streets as each individual loses all hope of community in the rage of the crowd. We are lost. Fallen to the dark madness that screams for our attention and consumes our minds. Media is hurled at these overstimulated children till they crack under the weight of it all. And I stand here, digging my toes into the only scraggly patch of earth to be found, watching the bricks crumble around me. Each one is a face. A soul. A story. They have succumb to the city and fallen in the ash heap. The child within has been starved to death; and a stone faced stranger is all that remains.
I do not belong here! Can you not see? I am a child of wind and woodlands: an imp who dwells in trees and caverns and mountain tops. I run with the rivers and laugh in the rain. With calloused feet and muddy toes; bruised knees and a thousand tiny scars carrying stories. My hair is tangled in leaves and twigs, and my sun kissed nose lies between ruddy, wind burned cheeks. I have a tribe. My very own clan of fellow adventurers. Shall I forsake our union and abandon my family for this beauty depraved land? Our hearts have been melded together, and are now being ripped apart by brute force. I cannot bear it. I am not strong enough to hold all the desperate fragments together. Please, I beg of you. Let me go home.

Slow. Steady. Rhythmic.
The dull thud beats in time with the sway and cantor of the melody. Glide across the hall, dip down to the banister.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Even and calm, lost in the frequency, wandering amidst the pitch. Fanciful footwork frames the floor with twisting steps and intricate detail.
Shrouded in fireflies and dandelion dust that drifts on the lazy current of the song, drowsing through notes and harmonies in a trance of ballroom dance.
Rise up.
Build into a waltz of throbbing desire. Whirl in the stars and flit past treetops. Even and clean, again and again and again.
Search the woods with craving eyes and fixate a longing gaze on the shadows of the mountains. The horizon will bleed into the treeline as melancholy keys and jubilant echos bring a cobalt stare reeling round and round the surface of the planet.
Press out each measure with deliberate punctuation.
Step hard, flit away, step firm, pull in, step true, twirl out, step in, dip low.
The march of feet in sync resonating through soul and mind: rhythm, measure, beat.
Soar.
Rush the pace into a frenzied tango. Alight a tender foot on the raindrops and fly into the moonlight as the throbbing repetition drives the dance onward.
Hear the wail of the drums in the atmosphere; they cry out in agony, ever increasing intensity. Pound out the steps over and over, numb to the world.
Bring the reckless mind crashing down upon the orchestra pit. Flood heart and soul with sheets of music dripping with pen strokes of madness and ingenuity.
Heaving, writhing, panting, burning, pounding, crashing, yearning heart be free.
You stop short, gasping for breath, ears peaked by a new sound. Another beat. You swipe the wild strands of hair from your eyes and find yourself a butterfly’s breath away from a brand new heartbeat. His sandpaper skin brushes your fingertips, chocolate eyes melting into your dance. You twirl out, he catches your milky wrist and dips you into his lullaby. Spinning in, two songs forge into one as pounding fades to throbbing. The voice of the lark rises in your throat, a jade sky splits the earth in two, and you fly away. Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeats.