A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity

The Internet told me

it gets better with time


I want to feel this,


better they speak of;

Seems like every time I’m close enough

to reach it, touch it, be it

it’s snatched away.

Or, maybe it runs…

Either way,

all I’ve ever known is pain, and confusion.

I just want to heal

and I’m tired of

this interference.


just let me be



Meditate, baby love…

Calm yourself.

Hydrate and remember that

this too shall pass.

You are neither martyr

nor victim;

Trust yourself and the Universe, and know that

your time is on the way

and your transformation is almost complete.

Yes, it’s true you’re not like the others

but that was never a bad thing;

Your feelings of inadequacy

and wounded heart

are necessary lessons [not burdens]

in owning your life and soul purpose.

Your dreams were never invalid;

Spirit just needed you to value yourself

the way the world already does.

You had to experience pain

to be sure you were ready for

the pleasure bound to your path.

Chaos and conflict always precede order

and your destiny is yet unwritten –

Just ride the waves of


and find yourself in healing

and love.


I keep trying to pour myself

into your empty cup

and mine runs dry as it fills yours up

but your fine goblet

must have a puncture in it


because no matter how much I pour

it’s never quite enough –

my remaining specks of sanity

implore me to run

over and out;

Away, away

went the years I ignored myself,

now I’m focused on filling my own cup.

You only notice

because yours has gotten empty,

so used to draining me

that you fear being drained


and honestly,

I’ve had to work too hard at restoring my energy

to find enough to volunteer as tribute

for your wayward and imbalanced



Here’s to

bittersweet but inevitable endings,


promising new beginnings.

Raise a glass

and put one in the air;


is almost always

poignant, yet somewhat painful,

the reasons for it many

the truth of it

its own reckoning.

Like the taste of water

it’s almost indescribable, yet fulfilling

always that small missing element within

you never know is needed

until it’s something you no longer experience.



Surrounded by so many of them,

each as unique and infinitesimal

as the Universe itself –

the respect and love I carry for each

is commensurate with

my own –

for myself.

So I don’t worry about the overstimulated baby

who cries because they’re not

comfortable enough in their present environment

to sleep;

Or the older gentleman who almost falls over

as he sleeps through the bumps and jerks and sudden stops

the bus makes.

I pay no mind to the young melanated man

rapping his renditions of K.R.I.T. out loud

or the woman having a loud phone conversation

in the back.

I’m not disturbed by the cacophonic symphony of sounds

and life

around me,

only everyone (else)’s obvious, yet covert need

to hide their varied emotional states

in fear of being called out for their contribution

to these perceived disruptions.

I smile realizing

life’s just like this bus ride,

many different beings

getting on

and off, with different destinations…

some together, but mostly separate

all just trying to get somewhere,

even when they might not know

where they’re headed;

But still rolling along

travelling their various paths;

Paths which intersect and often collide

by the most Divine of orchestrations.

Many of us haven’t reached our stop yet

but the bell rings no differently

regardless of where we choose to hop off

and when…

A story doesn’t happen in its beginnings

or end;

It happens in the telling –

we’re all still writing ours, in one way

or another.


Even beings of evil are art;

they too contain many layered


of [un]conscious actualization.

Just as nuanced and fragile

as memory itself,

they once also had Higher origins

of creation

that manifested their existence

and anointed them with free will.

Each energy has Divine purpose

and the choice to decide how/whether to

fullfill it.

By sheer God-conscious will alone

Art is

the pleasure of creation

and the energy of Every(thing).



Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.

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