the wheel turnsmoving from renewal to deatha cycle that is unendinglife and death in full harmony sometimes the cycle ends with crisp coldnessother times its the blazing heatseasons come and seasons gosuch is the circle of life we often forget the cycletoo wrapped up in our problemstake a moment and realizethat when life ebbs it ...

danger thrives in all of usfeeding on our very desireresistance is futiledeath is inevitable rainbows show us the wayour dreams collide when we waketime is our only frienddays go by life fades in and outour emotions make us hollow and numbchances are better left untakenfear our only ally days go byas we drift through timetaking ...

It’s not hard to see them Standing tall and proud Branches bent and swaying Thick trunks rooted in the ground   Many have stood for generations. Some fairly new All reaching upwards, filling the sky with bloom Hiding a beauty that few see   Some say they represent change. Others are the very foundation that ...

Why am I the unbeliever?Because I never trusted you?Cruel and deceitful Always expecting meTo be perfect and holyLike you, oh pious man You told me I was meantFor something more thanWhat was given to me.On God’s green earthThat it’s my destinyMy sole purpose The days grew into weeksWeeks grew into monthsMonths passed into yearsNo prayers answered ...

Standing in my bedroom doorway, the ground binds around my feet, mud reaching up to my ankles. Theebb of water,river,bloated, fear holding me by the ankles, I yearn  —  release. Water resides,revealingsprawling roots, clusters of bulbous buds. Thick crimson limbs meandering through drawers andcupboard doors  —  out the window. Trawling through the mud one foot ...

There once was a free bird,Who loved to sing. There once was a happy bird,That loved to fly. There once was a content bird,Who loved to eat and drink of life. But a hunter came by,Who loved the bird’s beauty. He thought to himself,“I could only be happy with a bird like that”. So he ...

When I am at home with my dog, nothing brings me more joyful moments than her wet nose and her tail swishing side to side.

Hanging out. Wild billowy sentences, Friday night in August. *** By the moonlight, she is smashing sentences with a pen. *** Late June, cold words quiver across the page. *** The stars disappear, it is too dark to write too cold—inhibiting. *** Hazy summer day, reading, sipping tea beneath low hanging clouds. *** She reads, ...

he beach is a place for everyone to feel happy and free, no matter your body shape or the tone of your skin. The sun, sand, and surf, openly unite all different creeds ..

Where did the fire girl go when the field finally turned to ash? Where does the one who sets the flame end up when all the kindling is gone and the embers are no more? With smoke in my lungs, I dig through the burnt ruins of my harvests. I hope to find something salvageable ...