I still see you

I still see you
In the ripples of Silver
In the shallows.
Like tips of wings
Carving into
The mirrored
Winter sky,
In the pale dawn.


All your days

You gave me all your days,
They came and went
With rocks and weeds,
Brambles and blossoms.
Now I give you all my tomorrows,
Softly above haze,
Or thorny in graceful loneliness,
With gales and hush,
Hale and summers,
They are all yours.

Without You

Without you
I’ve got a weightless heart,
Letting winds change my way.
I am like a bird above the sea,
Always on my way home.

Plant me in soil,
Anchor me at sea
I will drift,
Without you…

Without you
I am a prayer without direction,
A country without coordinates,
My only compass made up
of debris from a memory of you.

Plant me in soil,
Anchor my at sea
I will drift,
Without you…

Without you
I am a barren paradise,
A colorless dream…

Plant me in soil,
Anchor my at sea
I will drift,
Without you..
Without you…

A Gathering of Hope

We all get sold this idea that life is some kind of beautiful fantasy, then when we learn that that is not true, we hurt, we hurt badly. But we push through that pain. Every day.

When our dreams are shattered and we learn that they will never come true, we make new dreams. When we fully understand the concept of our mortality, we learn to make each day count, to not waste time on things that don’t matter.

When we lose someone we love for the first time, we learn to love the ones that are still there harder, to appreciate them and celebrate our relationship with them.

When family is denied us, or taken away from us, we create our own family. We learn to share out our love to those who need it, with an elderly living alone, with children without parents, with abandoned or threatened animals.

We find happiness despite the pain, and that is what makes human beings so darn strong. And amazing. And awe inspiring. We all live with pain every day. All of us. But we do just that, we live with it. Fully and happily. That is what makes a human being so great.

The sum of our loveless days


The morning air has been
whipped into frost to mend the
Barrenness of broken paths,
Sunned to death by the sum of
Our loveless days.
Reaching branches, sketched by
Dawn, break black and rise out of that
White and gray sea
Where farmers gather rivers
into veins to thin out
Our sorrows.