Chinks to our tin crowns
Unintended battlefields
Victorious, though
Sometimes pre-dawn feels like a SOS
An awakening, born out of distress
It is said back pain and a broken heart
Are the tools with which we turn life to art
If the angst you carry feels as though it’ll kill you
Then for certain, baby, morning holds your breakthrough
Living must be
A constant cleaning of the crimes in the outermost corners of outbuildings on the back forty of whatever land we’re fortunate to shepherd
A diligent organizing of each and every backshelf, closet, drawer, and centerpiece of these blessed bodies of truth we call Home Sweet Home
An earnest sweeping of matter that ultimately, doesn’t matter, but made its way to the front stoop and attempted to exert squatter’s rights
An eventual Welcome sign placed humbly, breathlessly, on each door we’re otherwise prone to leave sealed up tight, that we would embrace again
Creation must be
Silence
Rings out year after forlorn year
From space, that sacred place
So I stay mourning
Yet, I send signals
Probes, seeking life
To every corner
This curious heart and mind must
Silence
I know it’s name, oh, but it’s heart
Darkened for what reason
‘Tis unknown to me
Let’s afford them less
The youngest of all who’re made
Then laugh when they’re old
An eagerness
For isn’t life grand!
An inward look
That we’d understand
A nourishing act
For to fuel the soul
A balance within
That softly we’d roll
Which questions to answer
Which ones to watch answer themselves
Whether to rush to pursue
Whether to just let truth bloom
I am certain, though
I am manifesting, now

Too much stuff
You carry and keep too much stuffed inside you
This time around, I won’t carry it with you, love, I won’t!
I’ve a race car for heels, a skyrocketing soul
A heart built to withstand the truth
Hold on tight, study me, I have been set free
By my own hand — I’ve been set free!
Free to not compete with your garbage or ghosts or girlfriends
I thank God I know to no longer be content to clean your kitchen
This time around, I want your body and soul, stripped and ready
Willing to expunge the demons
Be condition-free, and the highest bidder is me
Baggage be for yesteryear
We’re older now, with fire-proof feet
Only sheer-will and brass goggles we’ll need
Take my hand, I’m leaving now, before the excuses become too loud again
I see noise in your heart spilling onto your counters
Yet life, you keep in your closet
Let it go
Let me closer
I’m leaving now
Tonight, my hat hung
To be of good cheer again
Tomorrow’s intent
Piece of some screenplay.
Hoped it was a script, I did.
But no — it’s your life.
