Gold tainted lillies
and drooling lakes of desire,
the weeping willows
and endless breeze
make for a perfect afternoon

my most toxic trait is thinking

     everything will work out.


haven't died yet

     must be doing something right or

getting very lucky.

I built a garden in my chest
with things you never said—
planted hopes in rows of maybes,
where your silence softly spread.

I watered it with almosts,
trimmed the silence like vines,
taught the leaves to chase the light
you never said was mine.

But nothing real grew—
just a heart dressed up as soil,
soft enough to cradle you,
but never meant to spoil.

You were the seed that never stayed,
the wind that kissed, then flew.
And I — the ground where you once rested,
but never rooted you.

Morning rain and mist
Red Cardinal sings among
Forsythia buds

If humans had no emotions,

poetry wouldn't have existed.

I’m swimming in a deep ocean
Water in my ears
Mind spinning, drunk on bad omens
Getting harder and harder to hear

Repeating this swim despite my pleas
Changing currents fast
My oxygen depletes
And I’m stuck in the tangled trash

the other fish Are thriving well
Why is it only me?
Everyone else, feeling swell
While I am lost at sea

There's another time before this time,
frequently lost in space--
A kaleidoscope of fears and doubts,
we desperately long to erase.

But in that world of time unexplained,
worry dominates thought--
Needless, mindless misery,
from a heart that can't be bought.

Wherein lies the answer still,
for moments tossed aside?
As grief and sorrow curve into waves,
roaming aimlessly through the tides.

We may never know from where it comes,
the substantive relief--
But perhaps one day the ebb and flow,
will rescue our beliefs.