Under the guise of searching,
a soul shatters,
a mind maneuvers.
It appears self-seeking, but it’s seeking self.
I’m sorry never illuminates
the path to feel whole.
Love, you are enough
to quell the rifling.
A flair of paucity halts the course,
doubling secrets under slipshod lips,
shrouding the truth from desperate eyes.
Life plods on,
and with the empty ache ostensibly filled,
the helm is released.
My life shattered into a million pieces, the day you died.
Like a brand new puzzle you dumped on the kitchen table; pieces everywhere.
Have you ever tried putting a puzzle together with gloves on? Blindfolded?
As the months would pass, I would start to have clusters of pieces connected.
Almost able to see my life again.
My life with you still in it.
My life before you took your last breath.
CRASH. BAM. BOOM.
A holiday.
A birthday.
A random Tuesday.
The days I missed you a little extra.
My little clusters would shatter again.
I was no longer able to see my old life again.
The puzzle pieces were scattered on the table.
How do I get back to my old life?
Can I?
I was trying to piece together something that will never be the same.
I will always be missing one piece to my puzzle; to my life.
You.
I must take those millions of pieces and start something new.
The gloves come off.
The blindfold is lifted.
I needed to start living my life without you.
We will not be creating memories.
You are now a memory.
My life looks different now.
I put the puzzle back in the box and open a new one.
The pieces are cut the same way.
They fit together the same way.
The clusters start to connect.
This isn’t the puzzle I wanted to put together.
But this is my life now.
This puzzle is for you to see.
To be proud of.
RIP Dad. Forever missed.
Who set this universe in motion
Filled the seas and the ocean
Mounted up the lofty hills
Then bathed them with cascading rills
Laid out vast arid places
Too, desolate for human races
And capped it all with one great dome
With clouds and stars to roam
A sun to warm and brighten all
Then rotated—the night to fall
Beneath a place we call home
With winds that sometimes gently blow
The good the bad both ebb and flow
What purpose this we’d love to know
Is it a figment, but of time
Or a losing-finding of the mind
You say you want magic?
Well I’ll show you magic.
All you need to do is stop,
pay attention, look carefully,
closely to sunflowers with their
bright yellow petals and, looking
even closer (no magnifying glass
needed), see the tiny vein
down the middle.
When you pull out dandelions,
notice their strong central root,
the lovely yellow flower.
How’s that for magic?
I am just a child who wants to be held
I am just a child who wants to be held
I am just a child who wants to be held
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
Never have the spider webs
sung to me this sweetly,
woven all the day and night
as cacophony surrounds them.
As if they perspire, toxic beads evaporate
and small silences are cleaned away,
then dry and quiet notes begin,
almost mistaken for a swish of breeze.
But the web spiders hear melodies,
tunes of their labors well woven,
strong when percussive beings pass,
laced beautiful in the feasting phrases.
Spider eggs are humming.
I twist open the cap,
And tip the bottle over.
The colorful liquid pours out onto the pallet.
My soft brush
Pushes into the paint
Spreading it around the flat pallet.
The canvas, stretched,
Plain and white,
Ready to be defaced
The first stroke is always The scariest
Breaking the white of the canvas
Removing the silence of the blank surface
Once I start
I can’t stop.
I’m waving my paint brush back and forth,
The strokes come naturally,
Easily
I paint
And paint
Until the painting is finished
I step back
And
I hate it.
Cloudless blue sky, day alive and bright .
Savagely altered into gray night.
A President calmly teaching his flock,
Innocence stolen before nine o’clock.
Towers almost touching the sky, Cruelly felled as we wondered “Why”.
Our people, though shattered by the vast devastation,
were strengthened by Rudy’s determination.
Seeing the President, bullhorn in hand
Inspired Americans to take a stand.
Old Glory waving proudly from cars East to West,
As our generation would be put to the test.
September Eleventh Two Thousand and One,
An ordinary day when it was begun,
But changed in an instant by that act of war,
When we were reminded, freedom’s worth fighting for.
For most of this long and perilous trip,
Grandest feeling came following a lost grip.
The calm and balm felt after a frightful storm,
Cool breezes of tranquil aftermath, yet warm.
The fear, dread while in the mental tempest –
Thought of Ultimate quit, peeks into the abyss.
In its stead, the journey has evolved into a Joy;
Vanquishing terrors fallen to a rejoicing ploy.
Paralyzing moments – doom, gloom gone, rid,
Welcomed jubilation, newfound rest to bid.
The Great Orchestrator has placed a grin
On this spirit – heartened, ready for new begin.
In April they bloom
full and bright
their pink petals decorating the once barren trees.
They are so beautiful
but beauty never lasts.
Almost as soon as they appear
they are falling back into the earth
disappearing
until next April
