Even as dying, I have no time
For bitterness.

Life was too short,
Even before.

Each step holds gratitude for the sound
Of snow beneath it.

For
Now

I carry my passenger
Unburdened.

Say no to nothing. Not
Even the cancer.

Even tomorrow's mother's tears,
Father's clenched fists upon casket;

Flowers; loss. Inevitability.
Death grows inside me.

The opposite of a
Pregnancy.

An aching song
replaces the windful soul
of branches clanking on
to rhythms growing old-
-
the residue
of explosive tunes
drowns out the view
of old- now new.
-
there’s so much red in the sunset
so much red in the onset
so much red in the eyelids
so many tears still falling,
there’s not much green in the audience,
much more green in faucet
hidden green in the closet
too many tears still falling.
-
white hills with wheels
made of steel and fear
look to **** and steal
while the white hills men cheer.
-
gold dripping water
from self righteous fathers
get stored far from the thirsty
so they can gain and barter.
-
there’s no way to heal everyone
unless we become many ones,
reaching out to hold the youth
from plummeting into a deadly sun.
there aren’t many ones,
yet far too many anyones-
ghosts too selfish to lift a finger
or gain souls to breathe a helpful song.
-
when will good will
and will power will
something more than death
over every hill?
when will good will
and will power will
something innocent
instead of thrilling kills?
when will good will
and will power will
something truly good
to be a hearty fill?
when will good will
and will power’s will
be enough to keep us pure
enough to love still?

Almost forever the Sun is there
The Planets and their Moons follow suit
Our end could be near or very far
Never can tell of Future's run
Yesterday I was happy and full of life
Today I feel old, tired and lacking love.

Did the Universe begin with a bang
Or was it there all along
Pregnant with dark mass and energy
As well as roaming atmospheres
Harboring inchoate light
There must have been
Spirits positive and negative too
Shaping the ignition of transition's bloom.

No way there was absolutely nothing
Before the Universe began
For nothing comes out of nothingness
The Universe in indistinct form
Was there all along and some explosion
Implosion or metamorphosis
Could have modified the Universe
Into its current existence.

The seed of physical life
May have been planted trillion years ago
Waiting for conducive conditions to grow
There is a gargantuan gap between
What scientists know and what really is
They have sparse knowledge of what
Makes the Universe tick with ample tricks
Our scientists are at a boarding stage
Of a journey that may or may not
Take them to some magical destination
That just might shed light on how
The Universe totally operates and why
But what is the point of BEING
If we know everything there is to know
Mystery is what makes life interestingly
Living for and dying for
Without it, life is a boring ballroom---
An uninspiring game.

last night the wind had its way  
with this world

it waved and clapped its hands
and skeletons of umbrellas
  
were broken and inoperable
they fell to the wet earth

and were whisked away
it snapped its fingers
  
and bicycles and plant pots
lost their balance

and were unable
to right themselves

take the time
to tamper

with what is wild
be sure

to take your turn
to touch

what is waiting

the moon has died in a poem
overused and forlorn
its avatar is rising
in blazig pixels and scorn

we are at this threshold
one foot in the moon
the subtelty of dying will be
presented on Zoom

Godot isn't coming but
I am waiting too

I don't miss putting my ear against the door
Listening to yelling and breaking of glass
The pain in my chest as sharp as the peices fallen on the floor

I don't miss the tension that overwhelmed me
As soon as I saw him
And soon as I felt the presence of his body
In the room

But I miss my old couch-bed
Dog *** stained and all
I miss the few good memories I have
I miss my tree
I miss my dogs, though they're long gone
I miss the nightly routine
My mother getting me water before I slept
She might not have always been able to protect me
But every night she got me a glass
In the summertime, she'd even put ice in it
And I would feel like the luckiest little girl

I don't miss forcing food down my throat
Or getting high fevers as a way for my mind to cope
But I miss waking up in the middle of the night one night because of nightmares
And my dad seeing
And being okay that time

I slept in his bed that night
He didn't drink
He didn't smoke
He didn't break down or yell
He just hugged me for once
As tears poured down my cheeks
Suspicious of it but more grateful than I had words for

I miss that
I miss home
Please understand it
I know it was bad
Miserable
But it was the first thing I called me own
And it's where I became who I am in

If you are afraid to die
Then you are not ready

A person is like a light bulb
The light comes from within

Death extinguishes light
from the outside in

But the live wires of life
will still remain

Waiting on someone to turn the switch on again

Death pats itself on the back but then

Life puts the dagger into
it's empty hand

Young magpies,
still grey of feather,  
attack random sticks
thinking them food,
cry out despondently
when discovering
their prey is inedible wood.
Mother magpie overseas
Scavenging expedition with
beady eyed patience...