To You

It was a day that cannot be forgotten,
a story that cannot be foretold.
I knew you were coming,
but I didn’t know how it would unfold.
The days were long and slow,
I adjusted to a changing self.
Everyone began to muster around,
knowing that I would help.
The time drew closer,
I realized how nervous I really must be.
The moment arrived and I only did see,
a little tiny replica, a replica of me.
My world stopped for a moment,
to breathe in all that was anew.
Ten fingers, ten toes and big brown eyes,
brought my love all to you.


Not as simple as the mornings past,
quiet as the minds delay.
It never seems to come so fast,
when you patiently wait for the day.

Stagnant, the wind will clear,
only deciding what fate will know
Hearts are often prisoners of fear,
gently gearing to reap what they sow.

Confused why this is what we have to bear,
forthcoming when the air is its calmest.
Anticipation is bright in a section of his glare,
beckoning the one to gaze up on it.

The Space Inbetween

It lies within the desirable battling the fair

trailing behind the truth with resistance.

Laying claim to benefits- so crudely existing.

It sees the definition in the light battling the dark

reminding their is most certainly always a way.

Waiting to determine the cost of happiness.

It laughs at the notion of triumph battling defeat

highlighting paths seething in the wind.

Notifying this place of its true identity.


Creativity is a source that is strictly derived from life,

finding each day as a sculpture or a mold of a personality behind reactionary experiences.

creations of storms or beautiful streams of consciousness.

Representations of these elated versions bleed from us daily,

from the spoken word, the cloth we bare to the culture we encompass.

Fostering a sense of belonging to which we have arrived,

stemming from enlightenment of ideas long passed

heightened by the surrounding culture left to absorb.

Manufacturing a voice that has come into its own,

graciously awaiting to commandeer our own personal art.


Nothing left to speak

sum of a life’s journey never multiplies and is someone plagued by this ultimate divide

finding the window has compounded endless mystery -remaining locked in tow- reminders of history

changes of fate that are never quite real- call to defeat the joy- longingly to conceal

As if their is nothing left to speak.