Isn’t it
a grand view of the world
way up high,
all alone,
yet all you love within sight?
The calm you may know,
the peace you might feel;
for a moment
soaring without flight,
for a second
breathing without breath;
your own air becoming
the gust of wind
along which you coast
travelling through time
remaining off and on
in the in between,
finding perfection in the pain,
understanding the loss
in the gain.
Would there still be
a place to call home
in limbo?

Labors of Love

An idea that represents
a labor of love is
one which you cannot relinquish.
You must feed it with experience.
It grows from careful thought and discipline;
consideration always given
to that which will allow
the idea to flourish and thrive
among chaos and strife.
All the dirt and grime
of tarnished souls
kept at bay
lest evil spirits get in the way
of one’s glimpse of the divine.

Souls for Skin

A spark
A speck of light
Beyond it only darkness;
Beckoning for a shot of redemption,
a savior, a place to belong.

How ever did it appear?
How did my eyes now blurred come to know it
as something I could grasp, hold on and cling to?
When falling, anything solid will do.

How did our minds come to create this–
A messed up world where
souls are traded for skin
and lives are considered a sin?