It is the moment you have.
Read: pick up a thought and leave your mark-
Make a difference


Pointing Fingers

Blood seeping through the gashes in her heart,
Filling her body up
With more hollowness
And the emptiness
Choking out
Her being
Her life
And her...

Her swollen eyelids stuck together
Tightly sealed
With the cement of expired tears
And the tiny slits she could see through
Were salty and crusted over
Blurring the world around her
And pushing her farther into the darkness

Her quivering voice was not enough to fully carry a sob,
And her body could tremble no longer
Shaking with the eruption of a fresh wave of emotion
She wrung her body dry
Then she knew she could cry no more,
And the dry streams stung her eyes
Aching in their sockets, they felt
Like the pieces of her hardly pumping heart

Served a fresh platter of pain,
She was filled with everything
Remorse, hurt, anger and dejection
Played their parts, taking the roles
In the theater of her life.
Each enemy had done his sin,
Love being the biggest perpetrator of all.

Each one had showed up
And owned up to their crime
All but one.
The self had failed to note
She allowed herself to be hurt.



Blinded by her tear swollen eyes,
She saw only the darkness in her heart;
The pain of death crushed her
And her weak muscles failed to let her breath,
Suffocating in her body
And drowning in her tears
She knew it was her fears she was living.

The light was blindingly sweet,
And fight as she may have
She lost the battle to Love.
The sunny days had been sweet and intoxicating;
The laughs had rocked her into delirium
And the delicious kisses had lingered forever.

Anew, the fresh dew of love
Had caressed the petals of her skin
And her gifts had been carefully,
And painstakingly wrapped before presented.
Today, the blindness revealed the truth

And the storm erupted.
Resurrection was out of the question
She will be dead forever:
But in death, she was born again.
Born to see the truth,
Never to believe in the impossible:
The illusion of beauty expires eventually.



Today the hair came down
The youth went out
And a son was born,
The new became old
And the old died.

At his bedside, the tears flooded the room
And the pain was suffocating.
Hearts ripped out,
By the hands of their owners
beat their last
and were tossed into history

Memories were born again
And stories came alive with nostalgia
The one who had been all
Had died with all he had.
Living had been his doing,
And all was on his shoulders

Stuck in their grieving minds,
The wails were too quietly detonating,
That no one heard his loudly whispered laugh.



Baby thoughts trickling through my head,
Dancing around,
Kicking up sand,
Awakening in me
A yearning for their birth;
A myriad of dreams
Crystallized in wake,
Blowing kisses
And little infant nudges,
Begging for a nipple to suckle.

Scrambling to grip
The sand slips through tightened fingers
And the smoke is blown away
by the breath that born it
And again the chase begins
Taunting my consciousness
And challenging my memory
to an ever losing battle
The notions start again.

In the mirror of my life,
Tears mixed in joy
Paint on a canvas of pain
Strengthened with happiness;
And hope found in disdain
Backs a hollow pithiness of dreams

Then the image forms again
Once more,
then another time.
As the muscles of my life tighten,
The free escape.
It is not till I learn to let go
That I can learn to gain.