Pure

 Grit my teeth.. cease
My heart skips a beat
My smile broadens... crease
Inspiration unleashed

All 6 senses.. heighten
Proceeding the evening
Stringed up and synapsed
Collapsed lungs.. start breathing

Oh my, such a sweetness
A big ticket item
The deal only sweetens
When infused with writing

You may tyraid for nine days
Until you get migranes
Instead of controlling
Be ocean, waves rolling

This idea is stolen
Like air from the ozone
Delighted to sea all the police
Patrol on

Such anticipation..
Both aware and waiting
The fire springs rapido
In emancipation

Ooowee this is splendid
A climate more temprid
A unified blessing
Gives this poem an ending..

💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙🧡💙

Give Up?

Day by day
Hour by hour
Moment by moment
Hold steady

Dont let the dying of the light be the death of you
Depression hurts, dont let it be the end of you
You have so many stories left to write
Smiles to craft, tears to cry
Days to sulk, and also celebrate

Dont let the pain define your entire frame
Be bold and accept help, be strong and endure
Perhaps this lapse in reason has convinced you,
your story has ended.. but..

Your story is not over..
You have many tales to script and live
Many moons to embrace and preserve
You don't need correction, but protection
A listening ear to dispel fear and folly
Peace to those who struggle
Faith to those who cannot feel
Freedom from the bondage
Strength in perserverence
You will make it through
You will manage
I can promise you this,
It gets better!

Cosmic Radiation

Theres an ocean between myself and the stars
A fate intertwined with doors left ajar
It aint out of habit, I can't understand it
The grit of the grasses that scower the Planet

A pillar of patience shoots from the Atlantic
A circle of stone perches up in the Arctic
A season of thistles, mirages, and missles
Consider the latter as anchor for hardship

This ocean it glimmers out into the night
Blocking the view of an eternity bright
Witnessed at a distance, the passing of cars
Can be used to infuse a poet with psalms

Im reading these palms, that labor and toil
That grow stiff when old, then soften when spoiled
They map out a story, through sequence and line
One for me only, yet isn't it fine?
To share every memory, most one at a time
To replay the melody within our minds?

Theres a sea seperating both doing and trying
I've crossed once before, though it felt like dying
I'll do it once more, summon strength from afar
From the womb to the tomb,
From the Earth towards the Stars.

A Lone Wolf

A twig snaps, and the lone wolf notices the moon hanging above him. Bright, resilient, alone. A testament to the night, a product, but certainly not an ornament.

It hangs high in an open sky, and below a wandering wolf ever so slightly marks the snow, navigating the familiar and unknown terrian of the woods. With an acute sense of smell, the wolf knows it is unfollowed and alone. His bushy tail whips the snow playfully as he prowls on.

Heading deeper into the corridors of the forest, beyond the streams of crystallized ice and snow, and towards an untold destination, his awareness is clear and spotless as the surface white. The mass in the sky illuminates the way ahead, refracting light off the snows and exposing new, shimmering pathways. This fierce but furry creature spots some shelter ahead.

A fallen oak tree sprawls out across the forest floor. Abandoned and suitable for a wolf's crawlspace. He squeezes his body into the open tree trunk. Fitted in this hollow log the wolf stares into the darkness for some time, until finally falling asleep.

The beast slumbers, but does not dream. His focus burns intensely like a white inferno, dispelling all hallucination. It is himself, the night, and a radiant moon above. All coexisting, in this dreamless sleep.

And yet, perhaps this very scene plays part of another far off wanderers sleepless dream. The world has yet to realize the secrets of such a night.