May we teach our children
the love for the unloved things-
the bee and its sting, the out casts,
an ugly duckling.

Children who sense rainbow needs rain
and find muddy puddles fun
as much as they ran
under the warm summer sun.

And when they're grown,
may they see kindness
has no color, shape, nor size
To listen to unheard utters-
a bird's forgotten musings,
the wind's coldest sigh,
a breaking heart.

May they keep pacing with the slow
to reach a place where
all beautiful things glow.

And when they learn to
love the unloved things,
May they be fonder
Of all gentle things
And be the ones.

it’s only the flower fallen off
that makes sense
not the tasks of work
that lead nowhere

it’s only the eyes resting
on each other calmly
that makes sense
not the rush of a boring day
that act like important

it’s only the expression
by creating myself with art
that makes sense
not the forced knowledge
i can’t use
that’s told it is needed

it’s only the memory
of mom
appearing as real as her love was
that makes sense
not the fake sorries and words
that are said
when they don’t know better

sunset for moonshine
two souls as one forever
for me only YOU.
4/7/2020