Light Years Away

The fire in her eyes burned bright,

But like the stars

The light took time

To reach the eyes of those

Who looked at her,

And it often went unnoticed

By those who only gazed,

Without getting to know

The constellations.


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Same Mountains as You

Broken at His Feet

I wish I could take it all away

And bottle it up in jars of clay,

All the tears And all the pain,

Stored away on the top shelf,

Out of reach from human hands,

Or felt by human hearts,

But what these jars contain

Is much more than what we think,

And would be wasted If left sitting on the shelf,

We carry them with us,

We carry them in us,

Always for a higher purpose

Than what our teary eyes can see,

Broken before a King,

All the content falling apart Before

His feet.


If a Tree Lands in the Forest…

Silent? No.

She wasn’t silent,

She was a thousand trees,

falling in a thousand forests,

With her head in the clouds,

just waiting to come down.

With no one around

To hear her land.


Tea With a Hatter

She drank life by the tea cup full,

Sometimes too fast

Taking in too much,

Burning her tongue,

Sometimes too slow

So that by the time She finished,

It had grown lukewarm

And eventually cold.

Waiting too long or

Not long enough

Before taking a sip

Or regretfully a gulp.

But she took it in

Trying her best to sit up straight,

With a smile on her face

Even when the tea became bitter,

And the party grew sparse.


The Gift of Seasons

She folded the soft orange blanket

That had been speckled red over time,


hugging it tight as the wind

Tried hard to pull it away

To join the other lost blankets

Decorating the ground,


she took a deep breath,

Letting it go as a gift to the wind,

And welcomed quietly the cold.


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Autumn Sighs

I wander if Autumn ever gets scared,

Knowing it will soon

Loose it’s splendor

In submission to the changing

Breathe of Winter,

Or if it welcomes it with open arms,

In surrender of the change,

Knowing that it’s time has passed

And that it must move on,

Delivering itself to the desolate

Wonder that lies ahead.

Or if it sighs not wanting to give in

To the beauty that it knows is waiting,

Because it would mean losing

Something first.


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Sleep Among Thorns

I want to hide among the thorns

Like a wildflower,

With no expectation,

Kissing the sky,

So desperate for only

One’s attention.


People Are Poetry

I want to be poetic,

Not in the sense that I want to

Write poetry.

I want to sit by a fog filled window,

With a cup of coffee,

Staring out into the rainy afternoon

Or the morning sunrise.

Not moving nor doing anything

Of consequence,

Just existing,

Breathing quietly as if I did so any

Louder I would wake the world

From its eternal slumber.

My lips,

sipping the hot liquid wrapped

Around my finger tips,

Watching the world as if it almost

Refuses to exist,

As if I am not my own,

As if I am looking at me from

The outside in,

Like a little piece of poetry.


The Loudest Fall

Depending on how you look at things, depends on how you see them. So many meanings for so many words, what is beautiful for one is terror for the other. The same two things can be used to talk of two different things and have entirely different meanings.

She loved so deeply

That her heart took root

To everyone she met.

The problem was that often times

The ground she chose didn’t deserve

The roots she grew,

Taking them away just to destroy

Everything that stood above the surface.

Till one day when the roots gave in,

Knowing they couldn’t take another blow,

They let go,

Pulling away,

Taking so much with them,

And it destroyed them both.