I may not know


I may not know

all that there is to know,

the vast dimensions that exist

unseen, the layers of space

and time, the endless depth

of infinity, but my mind is open

to attempt to grasp the meaning

of eternity. I may not be

all that I want to be yet, but

my spirit is free to roam, to search,

to gaze, to absorb the majesty

and mystery of this world—

a mere expression of its Creator.

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Emotions like Colors


Sometimes I imagine emotions like colors:

Self pity – a dark brown mire that sucks you in, try to cover your very essence

Fear – a hazy gray that clouds the mind until the world is seen only through its fog

Timidity – a shy blue, like a flower that only blooms when unobserved

Hope – a piercing purple, a bird that flies with sunlight on its wings

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Birds with Murder in Their Hearts


I’ve seen birds with murder in their hearts.

A swarm of black birds, all fighting for the same bite of food,

with beaks that stab, feet that claw, minds full of greed,

driven by a desperate hunger. They let out shrill cries of anger

and outrage as they jostle each other, all fighting, grasping

for a place. In the end what remains is a mess of flesh,

feathers, and bones: two bodies, too still, too silent. 

I ask of them, “How can you be so cruel,

so unkind to one of your own kind?”

But I don’t look for a response,

for I’ve asked this question many times.

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Winter of the Soul


I’m buried under a blanket

of white, nestled deep beneath

the surface, mind at peace, body

at rest or, I’m cold,

and miserable, curled

up on myself to preserve

my meager warmth,

sad, weary, alone,

hoping that spring

will come again,

and come again soon

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Inspiration


Sometimes inspiration feels like a bubbling fountain, words

that are overflowing, spilling over, bursting to get out.

Other times it’s like staring into a dry well,

hoping that deep, deep down,

beyond what you can see,

there’s a drop of water somewhere.

And somehow, it’s one or the other,

but rarely in between.

Maybe one day I can tame it

to an ever-flowing spring.

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Little Cardinal


Little cardinal in the tree

does every drop of rain

rolling down your back

feel like a touch from God, your creator?

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Flowers


I have a love for beautiful things, for flowers

of every shape, every kind. In the gardens,

in the fields, both delicate and wild, clothed

by thorns, clothed by leaves. When petals

open to the sun, revealing vibrant

hearts, displaying all their finery in bold

and subtle shades, how could you ever think

to call one of these

just a weed?

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Airplanes


I often look at airplanes as they fly above me and wish

that I too was on them, on my way to explore

a place I’ve never been before, ready for a new

adventure, ascending from the ground

as the world grows both bigger

and smaller at once.

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Disappointment


I’ve known the taste

of disappointment,

the bitter tang

on the tongue, the sharp

and sour flavor, thick,

like sludge, as it

slides down the throat,

leaving behind the ghost

of emotion, a lump of regret

in my stomach, a heavy weight

on my heart, a reservoir

of tears behind my eyes.

I reach for hope,

and hope some more.

May it not fade into

disappointment

again.

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Cold Air


I’ve never been a fan of the winter season. I attribute it to the fact that I was born in the month of June in the South, therefore, my natural habit is in the warm, summer sun.

But there’s something about the cold season, something about taking in a deep breath of cold air, feeling the frosty fingers of the wind on your skin, something about the kiss of falling snow, that reminds me I’m alive.

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