Flicker

Love doesn’t have to die. Don’t let
your light fade. Even if it flickers,
it’s still progress made. Think of
the steps you took. Look around.
Stay strong. Your light will shine,
or at least, glow. Love will grow.
I could be wrong, but who knows?
Allow the fire, from within, to burn
away any hate left on your plate.
Unleash the beast. Remove the leash.
Don’t lose that pep in your step.
Moving forward is your best bet.
Don’t rest until you feel your best.
Stay in the fight. You’re doing great.
Let your light illuminate the sky
before, during, and after the sunrise.

Move

Hey. You! Yeah! You.
Move. Take a step.
Take a chance. Move.
Buy a new pair
of dancing shoes.
Find a different
groove. Don’t be
afraid to lose.
When you play,
pay your dues.
Move. It’s much
better when you
get to choose.
Keep on dancing
for your love is
everlasting. Move.
There is nothing
for you to prove.

The Blame Game

Who is to blame in this game
of life? Who controls endings?
Beginnings? Who has a say
in how these things play out?
Who are the team captains?
Do they know what’s happening?
In life, there are players, coaches,
referees, judges, spectators,
commentators, analysts, rivalries,
and concessions. Is there anyone
to blame when we lose this game?
I say no because I know that
life can’t be tamed or controlled.
There is no way to predict
the outcome. There is no way
to get our hands on a script.
In this life, it is easy to play
the blame game by leaving
out our own names. Some
choose not to engage. Most
decide to play. Don’t give
blame, and take responsibility,
Remember that this game
turns out to be our reality.





Memory Lane

Today, the car is in cruise control.
I take it slow and go with the flow.
Today, I take a ride down Memory
Lane. I revisit past pain and travel
through time frames: different days.
I unravel. I tear up gravel to navigate
an unknown fate. I carry weight;
I talk to my shadows: old versions
of myself. Sometimes, I ask them
for help – words of advice. Miles
into Memory Lane, I face pain
and embrace joy all the same.
I see old friends of mine the way
they were before I last saw them.
I notice houses I used to live in;
I recognize yards I used to play in.
I begin to see places I have been.
Today, I met with Father Time
and rode down Memory Lane
before any new memories came.



A Closed Book

Each day, an old book closes. The story
is finished; the pen runs dry. Each page
is filled with a bunch of smaller stories:
memories: words that echo through
the skulls of its reader. One day,
the story we are navigating through
will expire as we retire – as the fire
dies – souls will fly into open skies.
Lies will become truths. Rough will
become smooth. Old age will become
youth. We are the characters inside
an open book that will, one day,
be closed – to be open once again
by a different pair of hands.
Until the book closes, look closer
at the plot and decide your ending:
one better than you ever thought.
Keep writing your story. Make it
a good one. We are still writing;
let’s make a book that someone
would want to pick up and read:
a plant grown from a small seed.