suspended-chord

Some time ago, it hit me just how final these things really are. I don't know precisely when, or even why, but there was a day when it all just  -clicked- and it made sense. They tell me, "you'll regret it, you know.  You never know when you're going to have the chance again." And who knows? I may.  I may. But right now, I don't think that I do.  If I  -really did- I'd be doing more than typing this to a place that won't listen, to an inert computer screen somewhere in the distance, collecting words and pigment pixel by pixel, bit by bit, to display to a group of people who I've never met, who are free to rip me ap

We come as the waves moving in one swift motion to overtake the shore with the high tide of high times with flighted pride under a black night sky. An Ocean Soul, they said so we carved circles into glass making impressions to last through night and day; the trickster's moon and the midnight sun. Still we are carving, circles to dictate our landings circles to tell us of the past circles to warn us of the present circles that will never see the future for the future only for the sand. We carve with blind eye deaf ear and mute tongue to speak the words no language could bear the cross of Christ a relief compared to

I ask the impossible: love me forever. Love me old, love me new love me broken, love me true love me now, love me later love me like there is no tomorrow and love me like there was never a yesterday. Love me in this moment and project this to be all moments-- love me for one eternal second like you've never loved before. Love me like the stars in the sky look down to see you smile and then radiate in their happiness. Love me like the moon loves the sun for allowing it to borrow its warmth. Love me like the water loves the land, caressing her in its waves. Love me divine, if you love me mundane. Love me when the going is toug

From silk to roses I felt a shrinking hole be filled with thoughts of white petals. Once so hollow, the walls seem to let the sun in, and help her grow. One more grain. Spreading her seeds she flits by, letting one land ever so softly in the tunnel the worm once called home. She grows ther, now, more and more every day. The worm, at first unsure what to think of this new neighbor, has now come to find her to belong. He inches closer to her, opens his once cold-blooded heart and finds a new rose growing within. He calls this rose "love". One more grain.