Lone seed,
nestled in the dirt.
Calling for rain to soothe
its parched skin.

Lone seedling,
finding foothold...
To brave billowing gusts
that threaten its conviction.

Lone tree,
rooted deep.
Set in its ways.
Change is but dream.

Lone fruit,
falls to the earth.
Defenseless and vulnerable.
Bearing the promise of
life and change
within feeble flesh.

Lone purpose.
To learn, embody
and pass on
the baton of possibilities
so that change...

Comes to fruition.

A pair of lily white wings
   dangling in the dappled moonlight esprit;
hang entangled as silken spider web
   draped in the sweet Magnolia tree

From beneath there was no way of knowing
   why a pair of abandoned wings lodge mislaid
One could not help but wonder how high
   one might fly with cherub wings

But these callused feet tread far below the treetops
   too high up from roots to climb
No telltale tiptoe prints cavort to be the talebearer
   No feathered traces scattered all around

A hearken say, tickle-footed as a ladybug,
   hold forth in a breeze brushed ear
Not completely undoubtable heed spoken;
   a language bestow from another ether
softly breathe a whisper'd sigh:

"Behold the wings of a fallen angel;
   uplifted by love's amazing grace
Lost alone in a moonstruck blindness
   an angel flying too close
           to the ground

                      ~

                   Jesse

Lingering coastal fog
  climbed up the seaside cliff head
    The windward crest-edge
       sprawling  out
        the rolling waves
        misty breathe,
       shapeless as an ocean
      sigh betides;
    cloyingly crawling
  through the lush
hillside meadow verdure

The clinging mist dissipates
   like teardrops soon forgotten:
      the Dawning of the day
          caressing the evanescent dew;
             an ebbing tide
               remembered for a while...
               Dawn awakening
               newly sun kissed Daffodils
            animated with felicity and mirth;  
         lilting ballerinas
     gracefully swaying,
   contagious with the leavening
    serendipity of the westerly
      sea breeze ~

        Velvet bisque painted
            daybreak constellations,
              embossed by sunrise
               splendor ~
              each root bound bouquet,
            kismet choreographed ballerinas
         in Spring's  Rustic  Ballet


                        Jesse

Master Manipulator
Parading around with all his strings
Trying to control
Persuade  
Use her to carry out his way of things
Why does everything always
have to be on his terms
Why does she even listen to  
all his mean and careless words
She is a real person
not just a puppet for his life
Now on to him and his ways
She finally sees the real him and understands
and is why she now carries scissors
in her hand :)