Categories
Poetry

For Now

In a world of fire, I am the stream.

Peace.

My heart wants nothing more, my soul wants nothing less.

I am tired.

So tired of the saddest story: well meaning fighters, fighting for good, creating the worst kind of bad.

I am tired.

Of the battle.

I do not need you to fight for me,

and they do not need you to fight for them

because those of us who have been broken are the wisest of souls.

We do not need to be saved.

We need peace.

We all need

peace.

War is what we have.

For now.

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Categories
Poetry

The Wish

It would be okay,

I believe,

If you were to make a wish

and put it in your pocket.

It would be okay,

especially so,

if the wish was sweet.

For a wish made carefully

is often much sweeter

if forgotten

(in a pocket)

and found

somewhere along the drifting line

of life.

Somewhere lovely,

of course.

Somewhere really quite lovely,

I would think.

Categories
Poetry

The Next Step

I have spent so much time

searching for the next step,

and yet

the next step

has always been taken.

With no need to search.

Categories
Poetry

How Lovely

How lovely.

The wind of peace.

Here.

Now.

My

how lovely.

Categories
Poetry

The Clouds

Somewhere in the clouds

is where you will find me.

Am I broken,

or am I just me?

Floating,

somewhere beyond the day.

Floating,

not quite flying away.

As humanity goes,

I am far from normal,

and yet I’d not trade a cloud

for a rock, and a chance to be

normal.

What is normal?

What is this broken world

asking me to be?

Categories
Inspiration

Possibilities

The possibilities are endless.

The possibilities

are

endless.

Dare to look.

Dare to see.

Categories
Poetry

It Seems Simple

It seems simple.

To live

as I am

always.

It seems simple.

To live.

Categories
Poetry

Eternally

This silence

is the cloud I fall upon

when I don’t know where to fly.

How beautiful

just to float.

Here.

Now.

Eternally.

Categories
Poetry

At Five

Sometimes

I feel five.

Like the world is big

and I am small.

And there are kids all around

bigger than me,

louder,

scarier,

bolder than this softness

that folds me

like tissue.

(No one else folds like tissue.

Just me.)

The softness of me at five

lingers;

a scent

(like lavender)

on the breeze

of my soul.

The softness of me.

The softness of me.

Categories
Poetry

A Story

It smells like a roast

but it feels like a story

of love,

of a garden,

and of home.

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