Pulling Petals

Days pass by, and the petals

fly. In a glorious garden, life

slows down; I can now zero

in on sounds that have yet

to be heard. I look around.

I see vibrant colors and shapes.

Without thought, birds and bees

survey the land. Abundant motion

surrounds a restless soul. I see

trees dance above a strong ground.

Coexisting with each other, all forms

of life carry on with no concern.

Not asking to be born, I learn to ask

how to live a life without keeping

track of all that I lack. I ask flowers

what it feels like to be pulled, planted,

cut, watered, and given away. I pluck

a flower in the midst of April showers,

and I begin pulling petals. One by one,

under the justified sun, I start pulling

petals. “She loves me. She loves me not”.

Asking questions that go unanswered.

After another question, the flower

was naked, missing its petals. Because

of my questioning, the flower’s beauty

is missing. I destroyed something due

to me not believing. I knew that my

doubt washed all the beauty out.

I lay the flower stem on the dirt,

and I realize my questions did

nothing but cause pain and hurt.

Hotdog in the Rain

As I sit on this bench, I can’t
help to notice my hotdog is
getting wet. Rain falls relentlessly
from the sky. Each drop dances
in solitude, enduring a new
opportunity to spread faith
and love in new life. Dark clouds
loom from above. I can’t help
to do nothing but sacrifice
the inner voice that destroys
all grace. At peace, I look up
and I don’t see catastrophe.
I see a forgiving sky wanting
to be remembered, crying to be
cherished. As I continue to sit,
I don’t stress a bit. Wet hotdog
and all, my worries remain small.
Lightning strikes the trashcan
next to me. Flabbergasted, diverse
feelings course through my body,
reaching my soul: my fulcrum.
I sit on this bench; I remain calm
Trust me, that’s no taradiddle.
I may be stuck in the middle,
but this poignant pain helps
me see rain as draining pain.
The dark skies help me realize
that life will shine its bright light
during the darkest of nights.
I don’t forget that my dog is wet.
It could be worse; I could be dead.


The End of Time

We won’t see the end of time.
Our time will end before
the earth stops spinning.
Life goes on. Every right
will be left to be wronged.
Every rhythm lives on
within each timeless song.
The end of time is a sign
that is out of our sight.
The end of time will not
present itself with or without
Mother Earth and her help.
The time we have now
is now the time of the past.
There is no way to pause
as moments fly by fast.
There is no effect without
cause. Life will surround
those up and those down.
The end of time starts
when our souls depart.

What Goes Around

Out of the darkness crawled
a monster once feared.
He was casted out, shunned,
and painted as a freak.
The monster never understood
why people hated him.
Before they got a chance
to get to know him, they threw
him away. The monster didn’t
know where to go and,
clearly, he could not stay.
He just wanted to play
with peers his age, but
others avoided him like
the plague. One dreadful
night, the monster was
taken out of sight, far
away from any light.
Many years have passed
without much movement
from the monster until
one day, he heard people
talking outside of his cave.
With the strength he gave,
out of the darkness crawled
a monster now reborn.
The monster visited those
who threw him out
and demanded an apology.
With shock and remorse,
of course, they said sorry
before taking off in a hurry.
The monster took over
the village, not before
a great pillage. He became
the thing they called him:
a monster. He did not feel
bad due to the days he
was sad. The monster
once thrown away found
a new place to play.

Memory Bank

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.