I feel the healing wash over me, entering deeper. Turning what was once darkness to light, surrender to fight, weakness to might. For your power…
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Warmth from sun. Strength from tea. Has life known finer pleasantries? And as such taken heed to not forget them by, so when life…
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And to begin, I would but when? To let go of this tension, to ask for your attention and to try. I would but why? For plenteous redemption…
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The sun caught my shadow in a terrible flight. I stood there in place while my soul on the heights, dared not look down for a second at most…
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Quiet but the heartbeat and steady breath of an infant in my arms, unaware and unalarmed. Trusting with an ease I can hardly believe. Is this also what you ask of me?
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Arrayed, roses in a vase. Put out on display to brighten up the day. Enclosed, budded up and grown. Cut off from the ground that they had known…
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Surprised. Why are we so? By our own appearance, when we’ve often known: the bed-headed façade, the made-up dame, the plain look of exhaustion after a very long day…
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Yellow, purple, indigo, no, no. What next will imagination grow? Yellow fellows. Purple “p”s. Indigo clouds and outlined feet. We make our mark a work of art…
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Sitting here I am taken by the symphony of a hundred sounds. Chirping of birds. Sudden movements in the water. Chittering and chattering. Whistling of cicadas…
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I turned to the night, but it did not know. It could not explain which way I should go. I peered into the darkness and asked for a light…
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Empty and full. I feel myself emptying out and filling up, changing like a tide. Proceeding and receding. Proceeding again. But why?
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Was I blind to beauty as a child? Or just too preoccupied with my mind running wild? For it seems that I missed the rolling of the hills
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There is room in this garden to grow. To let new seeds be sown. To extend the branch and bud the flower. To take in sunlight every hour.
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