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.


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.

The Long Way Home

Take the long way home.
Look around as you roam.
Don’t be afraid to believe
that love will set us all free.
Take the time to view places
you once knew. Watch as
grey skies turn blue. Listen
to sounds you once heard.
It takes too long for letters
to become words. Sit. Wait
as time drives us to our fate.
Take the long way home
and take time for yourself.
The long way always helps.

Simon Says…

Get this bread. Fill your head.

Love endlessly. Laugh often.

Nail the coffin shut. Strut

your stuff. Call their bluff.

Say anything except “but”.

Find different ways to

fill your cup. Look up to

your friends, not your foes.

Survive the lows and enjoy

the highs. Become surprised.

Live through your own eyes.

Don’t wait until they dry.

It won’t last if you go faster.

Slow down in times of disaster.

No need to talk when you can

listen to the voices you have

been missing. Enjoy this time

as death will, one day, take

both you and me away.