Finding Home

A quiet yet imposing reminder that:  Transformation is the greatest thing that could ever happen to anyone. Miracles happen every single day.  And no matter where we may go in our personal journeys, though we face our own monsters, we are not alone. A friend is just around the corner. One needs only to look up, look around and ask for help. 

"I believe one writes so that one can create a world where one can live." -Anais Nin So this poem is A necessary sadness That you, my dear Shall be Immortalized in the words That bleed out of my quill's feathers In secret Always In secret.

They still drift to you   These thoughts Like paper boats Or airplanes Or feathers from My writing quill Such as this. When the wind Lifts leaves Off the ground Or from where they Belong in branches Of silent trees Letting them seem Weightless for a time Until it lands on a Patch of earth Next to your feet.

The back of  one's hand one's palm  kneading mine The graze made on The right side Corner of  My spine against  my better sensibilities One cradling  the back of my feet As if they were my heart How could I forget? And yet why do I feel like I'm a  business deal something one knows all too well Like secret sonnets of past loves memorized eyes wide shut Unspoken Truths Like Scars and veins that protrude and that which I know too well Like the back Of my hand. 

Some stories will  Stay that way. There is no beauty in finality. The pen shouldn't have to be thrown away. Words don't have to run out.   As if they ever will.  "I will have  Poetry in my life."   You just have to pick just one   piece of memory that particular fragment that stoked the embers of what was once called fire.  That pinpoint of a Life where  You allowed yourself to break, crack heal, become  beautiful, alive. "...and love..." If I were to choose  between  happy endings and  open ones, "...and adventure." Eternally unfinished is where I want  to be.

                Shall I love you like I love the sunrise Embracing all that Breathe life? Or As I do with sunsets Letting go of all That ends must end One way or the other? Or Should I love you as I love both? With its fickle moods Transforming by the hour, Minute and second Even nanosecond? One, or the latter I cannot choose How could I? As if it is life And death when Even death is a friend. Tell me, How should I love you then?    

Come see what I see.  Leaves that turn into blades  piercing the skies full of air,  knocking the wind off my lungs  until all that is left  is the piercing  which is only nothing  and everything.