The leaves that waste away in the orange Fall
from the trees that have now shed their skin, to stand bare in the face of winter
Paint that chips from old walls, feathers that fall from birds high in flight
are nothing more than remnants of what was, and is now falling apart in the face of time

But behold, a green glimmer of hope; a leaf
The paintbrush that works to heal the wounds of welted walls, the bird that rejuvenates itself to fly higher than before, to soar anew into a horizon that has resurfaced for another chance, another attempt to assist what is old and strained,
to invigorate what once was
to what can be once again


Wander to the right and I will go left
ten paces each, or maybe more
I will roam and so shall you, to the edges of the earth that has been put forth
to where we must go, to where we can by choice, through our own intentions, though without fault of our own
to uncover what was meant for us to dig up, to face the challenges created

So I may be who I am when I complete those steps in a direction away from you
and when we turn around
our backs no longer facing each other, our distance further than ever before
Our eyes no longer sharp as they were, our vision no more without the bearing of experiences
I will come to tolerate and respect the person you are, knowing who you were
and one day, who you will be

The Fog

Hovering low over the land, engulfing atmosphere through white mist
encroaching down upon us to cover our vision, to surround our landscape
the fog settles thick to place us in hazes that conceal us from our neighbors
that render our eyes unsure of our environment

Resolving to absorb our space as it hails from the skies
we sit unnoticed, unaware of who may be watching, who may be observing our silent actions and hidden movements as we float on through the fog

And when the fog clears, the skies retract the blur bestowed upon us, life is as it is, as it was
but only we can be sure of our actions, of who were are and who we were, when the fog had settled and given us a sense of cover, from the earth that so carefully watches all who walk on it
through thick and thin, through light and fog.

Young and Old

The days spent in nurseries, under the watchful eyes of those that wish to guide us
to fulfill dreams and destinies, to create solutions and solve problems
are the days of bonds formed into friendship that last and dissolve alike, that sprout relationships
and diminish the presence of invisible barriers among us

The days of the ambitious young men and women, the children that are now grown with prospects of daunting experiences in their paths, fall apart with time only to be brought under companies and conglomerates to collaborate and cooperate, to save the world that relies so heavily on our mistrust of each other, that attempts to foil our vision and put in place those that go against the flow, to prove that the world is not a nice place

So that one day we may grow old to regret our folly, to shame our choices
for the sake of the young people that know no better
than to live with their eyes closed
to solve the problems that we were born to solve ourselves

Golden Baked

Absorbed through her delicate features, I steal glances into her heart from the corner of my eye
yearning for a passionate heat, a burning emotion
I compliment her, simple words with clear intentions
to do good for her soul, to bring desire to our relation

Her rosy cheeks sparkle fiery at my kind words
I yearn to reach out and touch her but I am too far removed to make contact, to feel her skin against my fingers
so I smile into the brightness of her eyes, refracting the glow from her pupils onto her golden baked hair, the thin strands that cover us from the world continuing to keep us both in the warmth she has created

On Creativity

The worlds we create, so potent, are unbreakable to our human eyes
the well intended walls that rise from the foundations under such conceptions begin to crack under the layers
from pressure applied by those bent to expose the underlying weaknesses of these abstract buildings; the foolishness of such conjuring

But the strengths of shared visions and unrelenting creativity must persist in the shadows
the ideas must continue to manifest in the face of crude logic and faceless adversity
so we may continue to build on our path
and never surrender to those intentions of destroying our beautiful creations

“Creativity takes courage.”

― Henri Matisse

On love and differences

A love grows strong, often to be pulled into wayward directions
uncontrollable and erratic
the spiraling effects of the tainted tips that fly straight from cupid’s arrow
into the innocent hearts and eyes of the blindfolded bystanders

We were without responsibility, until we were involved
appreciative of each other in silence, glad to observe from afar
our existences at a distance

We moved closer together, seeing one another under the lens of a love so different from ourselves
yet one that kept us close, through the variances and squabbles
to diminish our doubts of once again quietly drifting apart
so to share space on the same thin cloud that held tough through the storms
and continued to float without the effects of gravity, that so often brought us down

Herculean Defeats

Absorbing dust upon impact, the bodies that fall face first onto bare earth must simply rise on instinct
to start again, to begin their climb
the defeats that lay ahead outweigh the sweet savors of vanquishing obstacles, the enthralling victories, the past scenes of joy

The perils, aging like fine wine, grown thick within your cask to crush your composure
annihilating your generally aroused appetite, dragging you down lower, only at a price higher than before for smaller victories of heavier consequence

Fall, as you must, as you please,
and lay if you can no longer rise upon command
but get up, you will
and continue, you must, to rise to the challenge, to claw your way back to zero, to defeat your incurred debt
and challenge the ways of the world

On the futility of futures

The night holds a certainty of tomorrow, but one without granted promises for any creature

The oncoming of dawn speaks boldly of sunlight but not of a sustained coming; an agreed future.
I know not what today will hold but I realize the day, by the telling times that morph moments to minutes, the seconds to a series of unpredictable sequences that gamble my life away with each passing breath, more so than the last
Aspiring to accumulate a wealth of precious oxygen, only to give back to earth an exhale of unnecessary airs that hold truth of poisonous natures, ones that slowly choke away others with similar inspirations of tomorrow, those who coincidentally count on a finite future


Many a wall have been built; similarly, bricks smashed back down to essence
to original form, to what they were before they dared build together; the audacity.
Constructed to control, the statute of limitations marked by statues of bronze
wielding piercing swords on high horses, let them serve as a reminder
but I trust you will never forget

Generations to come refuse such established notions
such boldly set principles,
but who, then, shall be bought? Who will be sold?
Who shall refuse to mount the majestic high horse?
For only those who hold weight in mind
are capable of falling prey to such sharp swords

“All animals are equal…” The seventh commandment from The Animal Farm by George Orwell