Reshaping
broken
pieces
I discover
that sometimes
human imagination
outshines
natural selection.
Reshaping Broken Pieces
Tag Archives: Photos
Your soul
Your soul
is expressing
itself
inside you
like an underground
river
nourishing
a whole
forest.
Poetry
Poetry is
the soul’s
theology.
As a child
Watching myself
as a child
play
curious
free
abandoned
by vanity
criticism
eagerly
exploring
absorbing
rewarding
uniqueness
to the world.
Watching myself
as child
play
remembering
that I am still
her.
Growing up
Sometimes
growing up
can feel like
growing away
from yourself.
So you start
wishing
you could grow
back down
to a seed
to clarify
what you were meant
to become.
A heart that loves
A heart that loves
fiercely
breaks
ten times
during a day.
A heart that loves
faithfully
mends
ten times
during a day.
A heart that loves
unconditionally
becomes
a patchwork
of joys
and sorrows
with seams
of glowing stiches
sown together
by the resilient
soul.
Without
the heartbreaks
there would be
no healing,
without
healing
there would be no
glowing seams
uniquely crisscrossing
the living heart.
Sakura – Life is briefly beautiful
Roaming in Gardens
March has been an impatient and sunny month waiting for good things to grow without water. It has been a month of poetry sprouting from dreams far from maddening crowds and words creating a universe for us to wait in.
It has been a month of growth, of new seeds rising through the surface and lines being drawn on blank canvases. There has been love; love for green things bending their leaves to meet the warm sun, and cheerful prayers whispering: “Grow! Grow! Grow!”.
There has been sleepy cats craving independence and time of togetherness. There has been cottage gardens and yellow flowers, port wine and polka dot pots of basil, bookshops and moonrise kingdoms.
All in all it has been a month where dreams and aspirations have risen to the surface and outgrown and outshone reality. But maybe that is what we need in a world that, for many, no longer feels like home.
Unsaid words
Unsaid words
stuck
in my throat
breaking
reflections
engaging
alarms
resonating
in my
heart
making it
throttle
pushing
me
to
fight
or
run
for
my life.
Wing Clippings
Sometimes
my heart
is
so full
of flight
there is no
room
for any
sensations
or words
of sensibility
or consolation.
Those are
the days
when I grieve
my wing
clippings
the most.
