Deep in my mind, memories get stored.
My brain is a steel trap that opens
and closes. It’s impossible not to
remember a burning fire and how
it came from an ember. My mind
is a bank that will never be blank.
Blank checks and recurring thoughts
do not need to be bought. My mind
does not idle. Boredom often rivals
constant brain activity. It’s on file.
Memories deposited take refuge
in the deep depths where thoughts
of life and death intersect. Accounts
of my life stay full as good moments
fill my soul. Overdraft fees bring me
to my knees and memories do as
they please. My memory bank fills
up like a cup that never spills.
It’s been raining for 26 years straight.
I haven’t gotten tan since my life began.
Soaking wet, I had to learn to stay afloat.
I even built myself a boat. In my life,
I have seen friends, family, and strangers
encounter dangers only few understand.
I have seen some sink to the very bottom.
I never liked swimming, but it’s what I had
to do to keep living. I learned not to be
afraid to swim around before I sink down.
Some days, I’ll dive down to see buried
memories and under-water trees. The rain
never goes away as nature does its thing.
I am drenched, cold, and tired as I paddle
in place, creating ripples in time and space.
The water will rise higher, so I practice
holding my breath. I inhale first. I hope
for the best and prepare for the worst:
no air. I am under water, over my head,
but I am still alive, just extremely wet.
Now or never. Not in a bit.
Not in a few seconds. Now
or never; it’s not forever.
Don’t let circumstance
make the choice for you.
Do it now before the load
becomes heavier. Now
or never – it gets better.
Something from nothing:
nowhere to somewhere.
Life born out of death.
It is now or never. Now,
never give up and start
to live the dreams you
have at night. Light up
the room now and never
be afraid to sleep in
the bed that you made.
It’s better to remember
old memories than to
make new enemies.
Memories made play
a big role in creating
words worth saying.
In this life, we must
look back at the past
before realizing life
moves all too fast.
Nothing is forever
except the feelings
you left me. Memories
made are memories
saved. My brain
doesn’t mind taking
time to remember
what others don’t.
Memories made are
set in stone placed
outside this dome
I get to call home.
A Poet’s dream is to be heard
and not seen. A Poet’s dream
is to create, to wait, and to
discover one’s own fate.
A Poet’s dream manifests itself
in words, sounds, and mounds
of half-written ideas found
under the surface: underground.
A Poet dreams a dream brighter
than the sunlight and better than
a good night under the stars’
inviting sight. A Poet’s dream
is to change the world –
to rearrange things to release
one’s hidden pain. Just like
ghosts, Poets do not show them-
selves, but they do know them-
selves. A Poet’s dream
is to live a life that can manifest
itself before and during the night.