Evolution, Revolution

Some things are… melting

Now, I am quiet

Where all sounds of the night speak clearly

To ears that are painting the resonance

Of rain, of spirit

Moving stealthily in the silence


I dance to melodies only I can hear

In the crickets, in the wind

This seat is my own, this view of stars

The thoughts and echoes of midnight

Returning, revolving in the flow of water

To the sea

To the sea

As a river, let it be

A path for salmon to follow…



When We were Stars

Sometimes I think it would be easier if we could be alone, but alas, we are an animal that craves the comfort of its own kind. Because of this, we are constantly giving up small pieces of ourselves, and filling those empty spaces with the pieces of another. Constantly compromising ourselves for the company of others who, despite their love, are cloying and ignorant of the stars behind your eyes.

So you attempt to bank your inner fire so you don’t burn others, but in loosing the flame you have lost the heat. Desperately you reach for the warmth of another, even as your heart craves the solace of mountains.

Struggling to maintain a balance between empathy and entropy, you age slowly in the privacy of your pages, recalling the nights when you shone fiercely in the darkness, burning with prose, and others made wishes upon your light.

The Man Behind The Curtain

And this one cannot be forgotten
Those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it

The Memory Of Trees


He was a runner and a lover, but not a fighter. He could face your arsenal of rationality and logic with an impressive array of firepower, shooting holes into all the beliefs you once held like water in your chalice, until you are leaking from a hundred different places. He could stand alone amidst a maelstrom of contention with a perfect composure, as sure in himself as the sunrise in the morning. He could find a mountain blocking his path and move it effortlessly with a stroke of his pen- Or perhaps diminish it with one scathing remark, till it cowered like a molehill at his feet.

His power was always the ability to know when to sneak up behind you, but never the art of war. Meet him squarely on a battlefield with no walls to hide behind, and he would rather strike a deal than risk losing…

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Hey There Sister

Where to? I ask you
Anticipating not ever, the words were true

Yet despite circumstances, your own inner ache
Never did you attempt to be shallow or fake

To be aware of your faults makes your message hit deeply
The flavor of your words I hold close, they keep me

Remembering, to look further afield
To never forget the power I wield

In the stroke of my pen, in my moderation of thought
Such perspective our unique confluence has wrought

Aloha for being just who you are
Uniquely shining in your constellation of scars

You have given me the space to find my way
As well as the illustrative words to say

I appreciate the person you have chosen to be, And remain blessed to bask in the shade of your tree

To my Soul Sister