Petrichor

The sky darkens…

the veil of the day lowers itself unto the sea of civilization… should rain fall, our waters will become stirred…

we are wet but what if anything has been washed away… ?

should we find likeness in the substance that will inevitably touch us or flee in various directions just to save our appearance…

what is it that we see and what we sense that leaves us so disconnected… the very nature of everything drowned out by the flooding of everyday life, soaked stone and concrete fills the air with the aroma of synthetics… we long for petrichor… the very root for the design of life… if I’m wet I am washed so are you… nothing man made separates us and everything natural attracts us… so I gladly stand in the rain…

stand with me…

Sweetening Tea

It is a funny thing trying to let go of something as sweet and sticky as honey…

At first you want to rid your fingers free of it but rather than rinsing them you bring each appendage to your lips…

Extending your tongue and tasting the mellifluous liquid… becoming lost in its ability to surrender your motion…

giving you moments to think, to remember… to enjoy your now is a present, remembering your presents is a gift…

Be the flower to the bumble bee.

Black Widow

Should the widow need to poison to feed…

May the red hourglass sift sand as if it were honey before I take my last breath…

What is time if not taken… what is life if not lived in the moments that are presented and cherishing their presence?

Far from the darkness of a feared arachnid, the web casted trapped me in a suspended moment forcing me to look into your eyes and see your smile… only to want it all for myself….

I question myself asking how much time has passed… and even more so how could time do so, if I am to see not how much of it I have… but how if used carefully I could study and fall for every single thing about you…

Not quantity… but quality

A desire for an intense intent and a reciprocated emotion…

But I have time… if I have nothing else…

Victorious (No Reflection)

How many days have I gone around the sun?

Waking to a light that vanquishes the darkness so that I may see… one that tans my skin and warms my soul… letting me know that I am indeed alive… and in that I may breathe a sigh of relief knowing that for another day, I have conquered death…

Yet I cannot help but question why the days are so long and my time so limited… My toils leaving me with just enough left to sit down and think…

How far have I come? Should I choose to sleep, how long have I been gone? Where have I traveled only to be called back, staring life in the face just by looking into a mirror and witness the scars that no one else can see…

Questions I whisper so loudly that if there were a soul stirring, they come to stand still and remain silent… So that the only voice I can hear is my own, but the one that I feel erupts from the depths of where every answer to any question that I may have is written…

Looking behind me that I may see that past… and I am told, that all that has been left behind no longer has the strength in its hands to hold me down, but is now the rubble upon I have climbed to be in the present… a place where the mirror is no longer required for I know how I look and can see myself without it…

I will then walk to the window of my home and look out unto the world where I will see myself down the road… I will wave hello and extend my hand as to say please join me…

Where I will go is my future… one completely unpredicted but one that I believe in none the less… I can feel the smile on my face and the peace in my heart… another day has come to past and the spoils of war are mine…

Hear my battle cry… for I have won…

(LC14185)

 

The Book

Where was I when you found me?

Did I call out to your sense of inner desire to see… what am I to you?

If but a collection of thoughts, memories and dreams… I must ask… did you read them merely see them… though the words could only come from my lips…

Did you read between the lines of the sentences spoken to take in what I was saying to you… to see and observe not only that there was information being communicated but also that it was being shared… did you touch me or hold me… did I captivate you… I want to speak but my conviction to simply stare at you is so complex that speech is not necessary… you will see what I wish to know… what wish to say in my eyes…

how does that feel… are you touched… Will you remember me, or will I be forgotten… or forbidden… the very memory of me has no essence unless rooted to a part of you…

what am I… flip through my moments… share them back with me… refer to me in old age… for I am but an open book… with space for notes… and pages to begin new chapters.