Reasoning

The sun finds its ways to filter through
Through emotions, objects and people
Below one tree holds a place in my heart,
Its beating in sync with the rustling leaves
And as I sit below my tree that sun that does filter through
dances across my face,
And the light that bleeds in smiles and says
Everything will be alright
For as sure as the sun will continue to shine
Everything happens for a reason,
And my reason will reach me soon

Shortly After Does the Rose

the breaking point

I wrote this a little while back, fixed it up and kind of like how it turned out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

and those words: a final pang
a gear of the heart undone
a floodgate of each eye risen
such fluid prose congealing before recognition
choked up on reality,
                     a concept too grand to see,
a notion to desperate to suggest.
That resounding pang
beating in the walls of my being
                                                        echoing back
                                                                                  to every shadow of my mind
reverberating questions
                     without answers
Practicality.
Sensibility.
Numbness...
    more than words gone by
senses left to

                     drown.
to flail between tile and water
         muffled into pillows
lifted by prayers
pasting together
                  cracking smiles
                                          for so long.
nothing
but time can attempt to mend
    -- dare I say restart? --
the gears of a broken heart.

illumination

A Flash

then darkness
             and two voices searching
for matching souls,
                    tangible bodies
                  and a hand to hold.
Reaching out in the darkness
we meet hand in hand
               eye to eye
heartbeats matching heartbeats
            our faces meet
soft and plush and careful
and overjoyed  by
                                            electricity.
dancing through young veins,
illuminated by the night's dull cries

               we were among the stars in the sky.

see how they shine for you

My Current Poetic Inspiration (e.e. cummings)

But The Other - e.e. cummings 

but the other
day i was passing a certain
gate,   rain
fell(as it will

in spring)
ropes
of silver gliding from sunny
thunder into freshness

as if god’s flowers were
pulling upon bells of
gold    i looked
up

and
thought to myself   Death
and will You with
elaborate fingers possibly touch

the pink hollyhock existence whose
pansy eyes look from morning till
night into the street
unchangingly    the always

old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence
partaken

softly    at whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding