Hollow

A tree long rooted to the earth

I am fixed

Until struck by a force

Knocking me to pieces.

Still trying to coalesce.

My body becomes a habitat

For decay

I become hollow.

Dampness seeps into my pours

Unable to ripen in the sun

I become a different kind of nourishment

My body converting to anothers home

Its death forging new life.

Subsiding in trepidation

And here I find peace.

 

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Steady

Plants pushing up

Through cracks in

Asphalt

Slow- Steady

Wins

Freedom is something you

Can only give yourself.

Stitching a dead flower back into place

Will not help it live.

You need to let things go

If you want them to ever

Come back

Fathers Smell

New sky

Light and heavy

Unattended by the human hand

Hold me in lavender,

Remind me of the importance

I tend to forget

Fathers smell

Cigarettes and flowers

Evaporated despondency

Surrounded by the overlooked

Life of petals

Opening

With the sun

 

Cerulean Sky

Cascading hues of bice

Reflections of the ones who pass

Rare, yet of this world

Beryl glories lace a barbed wire fence

Leaving promises of placidity and vigilance

Existing in more than one place

Just as the cerulean sky.

Mother Water

Mother water

Swims with whales

To learn ocean navigation

She flies by watching

Cranes and haring

She rests by feeling cold dirt under her heals

She learns to see by

Closing her eyes.

There are knots in her back

From gripping wounds

People have generously given her

As she looked away

Carrying with her

The weight of others self destruction

As though it were her newborn child.

Palms of rain

Excuse them

Your palms made of rain

Is what the flowers want.

Seeping in desired hands,

Sitting in darkness, finding comfort

As the birth of the unconquered sun arises.

Always yelling to be heard.

Being pulled away from the moons infinitesimal glow

She is the creator.

Press dandelions into her

To remember

This

Future is always fleeting.

This is how we try to hold on

It is the only way we know how

To ease the pain of

Time gone by.

Poppies

In a time and place

Where all beauty and compassion has been stripped

A poppy grows.

Thriving in disturbance

Imperishable by death,

It lives.

The two extremes of passion

Joy and Grief

You begin to question God

When you build a relationship with death

Look to the land for shelter

She will never burn away

Plant something as an act of acceptance in time

As we speak

The language of no words.