There in the color of the stars, I found you beneath the blue skyline,
under the icy wind of my warm tired prayers, desiring your spirit.

In the garden of memories, we began so well.
The Coca-Cola wonders, the Yamaha thunder ride into the sunset,
The thousands of people in Texas-sized arena, where you stood like a princess with laughter, standing in white, standing with me,

nothing could take you away.

But years after years, the warmth of your hands,
started to bring memories of grief, the candle of your heart,
I held so carefully, only burned me - continually.
Even my prayers betrayed me -
the colors of stars turned only darker yellow
And when I waited for season of grace - I only was left with dances of eggshells, fire, brimstone, and smaller gifts and compliments.

In my endless love, I know if we wander,
it's not always lost, but times like these
make the bridge between your heart and mine,
just a wall of monstrous cactus, locusts, orbs of sorrow,

only sadness and pain I feel.

As soon as I step away, the planets seem to align, and
my prayers start to feel like home again.
And the silver necklace you gave me, becomes like a compass,
things go well, I find meaning and peace.

From these wintry nights or darker days -
from a broken heart, we both can be mended - I do know.  

I hope you find me in the colors of the stars, in the speed of its gravity and

maybe

I can find you in the silver garden of memories,
when you love yourself again, and
walk long enough around your red beautiful home,

and if you are searching, asking
you can find the map of galaxies,

between you and I,

decades of light,

and all our prayers,
in my dark brown eyes.

I didn’t mean to let them go—
those words, quick and sharp
as shattered glass. They fell
between us, brittle echoes
splitting the air. I heard them
before they landed,
felt their weight twist my tongue,
knew they’d cut through
what we hadn’t yet finished weaving.

And still, you stood.
Not a wall, but a tree
rooted in wind.
Your breath was slow, deliberate,
a tide that didn’t rise
to meet the storm of me.
Your eyes held me—
not as something to punish
or praise,
but as something still learning
to soften.

Behind you,
your daughter sat silent,
her small frame
pressed into the edges of a room
too big for her understanding.
Not mine, but yours—
her love carried in the tilt of her gaze,
her trust braided into
the rhythm of your voice.
She doesn’t yet know
that words can be knives,
can bloom into scars
years later,
but she knows the way
your hands move—
slow, careful,
as if nothing in this world
is worth breaking.

I watch her watching you,
her young face
a map of wonder and inheritance.
And I wonder if she’ll see
how your quiet
isn’t silence,
but a language of its own—
the kind that teaches without telling,
the kind that steadies
without asking for praise.

Even now,
when I am the storm
tearing through our stillness,
you meet me
not with fire, not with force,
but with the weightlessness of water.
You press truth
into the hollow of my palms,
into the chaos of my mind:

We are not the words
we wish we could unsay.
We are not the wounds
we carry like heirlooms.
We are the spaces between the noise,
the quiet that stays
after the breaking.

I don’t know how to thank you—
not for your strength,
but for your refusal
to make it into armor.
For the way you hold love steady,
a flame too patient to flicker,
even when the wind rises.

To survive?
Or thrive?
Is the goal the drive, or a means
To an end?
What end?
What's propelling you forward,
Is it social, political, economical?
Or some other reward?
You are more,
So open your eyes and explore,
Your heart... soul;
Let your spirit soar to that goal,
Higher, seek the ends of the earth for more;
Your core.

We miss take many steps, opportunities and decisions,
All throughout our day,
Shall we see them as demon disasters? Or hidden
Gems along the way?
Even today, mistakes were made,
And regrouping, re-evaluating and redirecting were essential, I’d say.
If I decide they were wrong and a waste,
I’d be in a spin, and Miss Perfectionist would get a wealthy pay.
But, if I choose, they could instead be wisdom pearls,
In which to collect and treasure where they lay.
Then I could re-take, learn and grow,
And I’d stay, not run away, enjoy and play.

Rome wasn't built in a day;
Life isn't a task to be ’completed’
Puzzles are to be enjoyed,
Complexities marvelled at,
One bite-size at a time.

As I de-program to reprogram,
The big picture held
Open-handed, eyes wide, spirit ready, mouth agape to wield
The mysteries deposited, and
The rich tapestry revealed.

As I wake up, the reality sets in.
I want to close my eyes and, hide from the fear within.
Life is a struggle of continually believing,
It’s easy to give up, but in You, I am anchoring!

I have a go, but look to others to affirm.
I am unsure about this world, naivety burns within.
I still have hope, I cry to the Spirit to discern,
I want success, a feeling of capability I yearn.

It is the season of play,
So, this heavy burden with you away!
It’s time to dream and let my inner voice have its say,
It’s the time for discovery, and finding my way.

The path may look well-trodden,
But no one’s walked mine in the modern.
So, don’t give up, pull yourself up from Soddom,
There’s more to life, you haven’t forgotten!

A thought just came across my mind...
What am I worrying about?!
I am alive and living,
Yes, there are threats all around,
But I am not under threat.
I am not at war or in war, causing me to sweat,
Like many civilians around the world...
MANY CIVILIANS vulnerably unfurled.
Yet a war wages within,
Daily, hourly, minute by minute.
So stop this combat zone, dim it.
Don't think,
But do. Do love;
Loving-kindness to myself and above.
And others whom I meet
to stop the violence in the street,
And the traumas falling at my feet.