the count starts now (tired of tired)


I read your outcry at 3:00am
posted on Facebook

you are
tired of tired
sick of sick
the only question, will it ever end...

rise this day,  start another way...

count your blessing
count against all odds
for there are more than merely one

use both hands
both hands chested to feel the heart thrusting,
for living is a wondrous blessing unique
an unbelievable to believe than so many beats,
born and borne,
by you, a strength unequaled,
you a richness possessed

count that one first.
count my hands holding your shoulders.
count that as two, one for me, one for you.

more? more.  

mirror.  find the tiny light in each eye against a yellow backdrop.

add two more. for they are a sparking confidence of confirming.

you felt the heart thrumming
go back, feel the breathing warmth breaching forth.
add another. for now known you can never ever be cold.

wash the face, wash away the caution that sleep leaves,
the coverlet of fear that fears you not to dare,
amazing that tap water plain is sacred when it
miracle breaks you out and anoints thy forehead with pure oil like the kings of yore, be a kingly human being.

go out. do not return
until one act of kind is performed and
count that as a thousand blessed, a sum recurring recounted

walk humble and the path will always appear.
walk contented for you can be both king and servant,
there is no difference - you must be both to be the other
one.

and if you still cannot raise the head,
call me.
that would be a blessing for me
and I will hear your blessings sounds mine merge,
dear friend and no more stranger,
that is the simplest definition of our learning to count to
infinity

We often are blind
To the value of things
Given without a price.

People, poems
Oxygen, parents
Your body and
Wise advise.

You're my joy,
And my grief,
My peaceful rest,
And lack of sleep,
My only truth,
My endless fraud,
You're my heathen,
And my God,
My brightest future,
And dark past,
You're my first love,
And my last,
Source of all sickness,
And good health,
A stranger and,
My deepest self,
My rising sun,
And fallen moon,
You're the dreadful silence,
And my favorite tune,
You are my numbness,
And my pain,
My peace of mind,
And thoughts unchained,
My heart of gold,
Split in two,
Good or bad,
I dream of you.

..................While
...........hitting
.......the key
backspace,  the  cursor  moved  back, and  encountered  that  empty  space, 
.......where   
..........­you once
...............existed

i always have
the urge to run.

but what is it like
to be a tree?

to be confident enough
to root yourself
and grow with
wild abandonment,
being unapologetically
you?

i'm still running,
but i wish i knew.