Scattered

You find yourself
scattered –
across time, across place,
in the leaves of trees you’ve visited,
or the words scribbled in
walls, real and digital.

Every piece
is complete on it’s own,
and yet when they come together
they make you more you than you.

So you begin
this journey
to find your pieces
that you’d kept
in various places,
just to be safe
for times when the
ocean comes storming
because of the wind.

Weeping Times

It begins from somewhere,
a memory, a statement, a voice.
And the tears come gushing in
like maddening storm to an otherwise
perfectly solemn time.

Weeping times, they are
of things that cannot be changed,
of things that aren’t accepted.

We cry for these, don’t we?
Everything else falls in between.

So, my friend, when was the last time
you had tears in your eyes?
Were they of joy
or of pain?

Weeping times, like these, my friend.

Wrongs, Illusions, and the End

That one could feel wronged
without being wronged,
is a strange thing.

That just by existing,
by being real
the heart could bleed –
of course it’s job is bloodly.

And thus, honestly serves only as
long as it’s sweet. Bitter things
are bitter anyway.

We’re seeking illusions
to pass till the only
real thing comes –
the end.