God CaresGod cares.And in despair,He’s always there.
I am a CosmosI am a cosmos,seeking the stardust that shapes,the galaxies,finding purpose in the pretty things,that life can bring.
RiverbedsRiver beds,live in our heads,where they go on forever.
Blind ButterflyShe dances in the darkness,like a blind butterfly.
Morning SkyThe morning sky,cries itself to sleep,by the afternoon.
Chained HeartsHearts are chained,by flower beds.And as night nears,little can be said,to the lonely,and broken.For love is a token,and our dreams are misspoken,as we find our emotions.
NightlightSilver light,in the night,sends shivers up my spine.
Where Sadness GrowsThe field out back,where sadness grows,is home to red roses,covered in snow.
Mending LoveI tend to mend love,with swollen eyes,as broken birds fly.
PrayerPlace your poemson the lips of angelsso you can teach their wingshow it feels to flyalways upward.Mark the summer eveningssoon to comewith the gracethat carried youamong us,warm and cherished softlyand know we will always placeyour wordsamong the stars.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happyTo leave their home for her newest installation pieceShe cried sometimes for no reason other thanShe felt like having a good cryHer house was covered in her students’ drawingsShe said the best art was produced from innocenceShe went mad once, and painted canvas after canvasIn furious strokes of blackThe soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew oldPeople shook their heads when they saw herAnd whispered “poor dear” under their breathBut she was never poorHer love for everything and everyone never diedIt was swept in all directions like a summer breezeMaking people smile without knowing whyBut the river rocks know
RememberDon't close your heartTo the worldEven if it's cruelDon't see emotionsAs a sign of weaknessNo matter what others sayDon't ignoreThe ones in needHelp them insteadDon't thinkYou have to be toughTo be someoneAnd before you judge othersFor their issues and problemsRememberAlways rememberThe burdened heartsAre the most compassionate ones
growththere is nothing more beautifulthan the softness of a manyou love more thanthe earth(shaking, geode),a face gentle in sleepand ardent in morning;there is nothing more beautifulthan the first breathof your spring,your blooming dawn,the incomingof nothing but you(blossoming, emerging,here,you flourish)—here,you are growingand transforminginto something new,and there is nothingmore beautifulthan that.
BabiesBabies are born,like butterflies;nurtured by nuance,and destined to dream.