It is the depths that call me here.
It is the silence
and the bells
of yesterdays wish.
Let there be now.
Let there be this walk alone
in the gentle woods.

It is the depths that call me here.
It is the silence
and the bells
of yesterdays wish.
Let there be now.
Let there be this walk alone
in the gentle woods.
The scars of life run so very deep. It’s hard to remember them, hard to sit with that pain.
The moments of quiet are beautiful, though, and moments of love revisited are to be cherished.
How beautiful true love feels when compared to its total opposite.
I open my heart
and close my eyes.
And I am just me.
Just me
in this silent night.
Let me be empty.
Do not touch this softness.
I see you
angrily tearing at her bones,
leave her be.
Dear sweet, peaceful girl.
For she must rest,
she is weary,
must rest, she has been
battered and bruised
by the tentacles of careless,
careless life!
Even the most darling rose
is a work in progress.
Be the rose.
How beautiful
that she will show you the way
to freedom.
‘Sun?’
‘Yes, Moon?’ said Sun as he fell into the evening sky.
‘I shine every night. I brighten the humans’ world. Why do they not love me?’
‘Moon?’
‘Yes, Sun?’
‘You have a chip in your tooth.’
‘Do I?! Oh, no! Maybe that’s why!’
‘Moon?’
‘Yes, Sun?’
‘It’s a tooth.’
‘I know. And I don’t want a broken one.’
‘But you have a broken one.’
‘Sun! You are not hearing what I am saying! The humans don’t love me and I don’t want a broken tooth.’ Moon stormed around the sky, looking for her lost boot.
‘Moon? I love you. And you have a broken tooth. Not but, and. Did you hear me? And you have a broken tooth.’
‘Sun. I have no idea what you’re on about,’ said Moon, putting her found boot on and keying in her crescent shine coordinates.
‘I know, Moon, I know. You’ll understand one day.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You will.’
And with that, Moon said goodbye and shone unconditionally for the humans below.
To know the soft skin of my own truth
as it peers upon the fears of others.
I catch their fear,
I hold it.
I catch their fear
I love it well.
And my truth
whispers:
of this ache, my dear,
you are free.
I have decided
there is a way life should be,
a way I should be.
As a woman.
As a mum.
As a fictional character
plucked perfectly from the sky
of humanity.
And I run
and I run
and I run to get there.
To be that.
And I run until I decide
that I don’t have to run there.
Because I am here.
I am this.
I am this.
No.
Nothing is more important than peace.
Not to me.
Me who has faced the wicked fire of others.
Me who has held my own heart
and felt it break in my hands.
I have broken,
but I am not broken.
I am ready to find and keep the softness.
I am ready to find and keep the peace.
Oh!
Has this truth been truly seen!
But a glimpse into a floating sea
of strange reality,
but a knowing truer than true can be!
Who is Shakespeare?
That terrible, desperate soul,
falling,
falling,
landing evermore in the stories
of aching romance and tragedy?
I am Shakespeare.
I am the writer.
I am the lover.
And so are you, love.
So are you,
lover of passionate life
and love.