candies that care

Dear Mr. Feelings,
I heard you're making caring candies these days. How's that working out for you? Are you able to satisfy their needs and make a profit? Or do you just look them in the eye and lie to them blind like the rest of the world?
I hope that all works out for you cuz the world needs another dumb ass.
Sincerely yours,
a bitch who cares

between phases

i stand between
the sun and the moon
feeling the rays of life
bleed through me
towards the cold
sterility of death
there is nothing
so precious
to be held within
your heart
your soul
running through
your veins
dripping down
your face
as tears of ecstasy fall
time and time again

hidden waters

“It’s better to hide completely within
as water hides in metal, as fire hides in rock.” ~Rumi ~


emotions bury deep
take you down to the core
of where you want to be
of who you want to be
events become crystal
clearly seen for the first time
dawning into the age of reason
from whence the age of necessity
breeds the days of our youth remembered
breeds the days of our time honored
to bring with it logic
outdated and time honored
no matter what the cost

water hides from metal
slides across the valleys of the hills and dales
across the weathered rock and sand
across the ones in high demand
weary travelers lost in memories
wandering round the leaves
forever changed in enmity and in grace
shadowed thoughts reak havoc
among the soul
until their lives can be told
relinquishing their needs to be outmoded and redefined
within the graces of time

sometimes it is better to bury within
keep your mind free from sin
all untold the futures seek
answering questions to bold to weep
fear not the mortal coil of deceit
for you are a time honored retreat
in darkness and in light
you will find the source
you will find the soul
held within the rays
of the one who made you whole
defeat is no longer found
in this space of hallowed ground
deliverance from evil may require
entirely new attires of the heart
to be worn without a care
within the greatest of care
wandering round this sacred ground

beneath these layers of time
once must refine
the time honored days
within the space of stays
erasing what was known
for what could be
looking within to discover
every possibility
adhere to notions of existence
within your time of remittance
a new day is dawning from within
never again will you be thought to sin
always wandering true to spirits
holding space with a lover’s eye
wandering towards answering
the question of why?

living truth

“Living in the modern age, death for virtue is the wage, so it seems in darkest hours, evil wins, kindness cowers.” ~ Dean Koontz, The Counted Book of Sorrows ~

the roots are sealed and whole,
the seeds have been sowed
here in lies the truth,
here in lies the soul
of those once lived to this time
of those once lived to this treasure
whimpering in displeasure
as one seems as light as a feather
from wandering into depths untold
visions held, less than bold
triumphs of the day
forever gone astray
to be gazed upon
another day
when the world seems less bold
when the lines of shading hold fast
when the seams of the fabric of time linger past
the hour of deception stays
with this ever present of days
towards the final hour
of the night
where life is found to be too bright
and all one wants to do is stay beneath
that ever wandering light

(as a random side note: this quote appears beneath my high school senior portrait)

church and faith

You ask me
where my faith is?
You ask me
where is my church?
Do you have time
to take a walk with me?
Do you have time
to take a moment away ?
It is here,
upon the mountains
where time sits still
and the light wanders
through the trees,
cascading within their brilliance
and their love of dawn’s first light.

This is where you will find me,
this is where I belong,
sitting among the roots of the tree,
listening to their song.

chicken tales

Once upon a time there were three little chickens. I don’t know what their names were cuz in those days chickens didn’t have names, but they always knew one from the other, as was the ways of chickens.

The first chicken did what a chicken was supposed to do. She ate the grain that was given to her and she laid the eggs that were expected of her and she died as in the proper way that was known, which is to say the farmer took the ax to her head and then when she was dead, she thought to herself it was a good life and death is fine for me.

The second chicken did the same as the first but she always felt that there was more to life than the grain and pebbles at her feet, and so when she died, she was not happy, but having no notion of what more there was, she spent her evenings haunting the farmer and his wife for many years. A clucking could be heard just round the corner but when they went to see where the chicken was she was nowhere to be seen.

The third chicken was an exceptional chicken. She would not eat the grain that was laid at her feet, but rather, she walked out into the fields to pull juicy worms from the ground and scratched only at the dirt that lay beneath the grasses felt between her claws. When the farmer came towards her with the ax she ran about the yard making quite the racket and ruffled many a feather with her squawking and gawking about. She was in such a tizzy that the farmer chose to leave her for last, but by then he was tired and not wanting to chase after such a feather duster, and so she lived out her days in the farmer’s far off fields pecking away at the dirt and feeling the grass between her toes.

holding trees

i held space
with the trees today
with the grass covered rocks
the winds of change
blowing freely over
the top of this mountain
through the branches
playing with the leaves of time
swirling and twirling around me

i held space
with the trees today
wondered why
it had taken me
this long to come home