It’s Alright

You don’t have to hide
You are not called to carry
It all alone deep inside;
The fear, the struggle, the hurt,
It is okay to break the silence.
There are places of safety
Some people care tremendously,
Even when you feel broken
Mending can happen, scars
Can stop festering and heal.
It is hard to tell the story
Of what you have become,
But to find your freedom
To secure your peace, you
Need to share what is real.
Others can wipe your tears
They can hold your hands
Hugs can give security to wail,
Then you may find the strength
To go on, prevail, and flourish.
You can be surrounded by
Support, understanding, and
Love enough to lift you up
Helping you realize, even when
You are weak, it’s alright.

No Wrong Answers

Creativity provides
Space, time, for the expression
Of all Love’s dimensions
Without failure, only learning
Gaining foundations
Of practical experience.
Every endeavor undertaken
Projects an aspect of truth
Leading imagination deeper
Into the molten heart
Of what possibility transmutes
When volcanic forces pour.
Explosions harnessed
Incur the success craved
When visualizing potential
In an environment of hope
Cultivated despite perceived
Calamities, dysfunctions, mistakes
Which contain probability kernels.
Questions generate no wrong
Answers only unbarred doors
To worlds wherein falling
Is profit moving forward
Because it encourages increasing
Attempts until mastery is acquired
And eventual satisfactory completion
Providing an upswelling surge
In the sense of peace and tranquility.

As a prompt, grab a Thesaurus or Dictionary, physical not Google, open it up. Take a trip around some pages, maybe jot down a few words that cling to you. Create something.

Epitome

How did it happen,
How did everything transform,
A strain of music,
A melody overheard
In the sparkle of your eyes?
You were a picture
Extravagantly admired
Shimmering starlight,
Two pair of eyes, then, we met,
Suddenly blazing desire.
An ozone shedding storm
A fierce current between hearts
Thrived until we merged,
A heavenly symphony –
Love, we were both and befell.
Our together is
A portion, given delirious, free,
Pleasant abundance
Outside all expectation
Gorgeous truth, mystery.

Attempt At Why

Where the words come from
The space that births each piece
Hallowed heart healed soul
Running warm as bold passion,
Cold uncovered Winter lands
The catch of a cough, hard,
Smooth tones of a close melody
Sung by a Spring roused dove,
Careful magic, Handwritten,
Secrets all given nearly away.
Yet, few discern how, what,
Is seen through such window,
As the aquamarine and white
Delicate lace curtains breezing,
Pull revealingly, appealingly
Aside, for puzzlement dominates,
But a writer may invite
With effort, join the reader
Such that minds meet, release
Lofty innovations, wild free thoughts,
So essence transmits, is caught.
However, the life of words
Is tied to a far foreign shore
Where there are difficulties
With innocence of travel
In the trouble of this technical
Ridden, cynically inclined time.

Sometime After 12 AM

Sitting, covered by blankets,
Quilts, holding the chill at bay,
A pillow propping me almost,
Upright, with a journal carefully
Placed to catch the wily words
My handmade pen traces from
The interiors of mind’s gray matter
Planted like nourishing fruits,
Vegetables, ripening over time.
Books, pens, tablets, all close to
Hand for change in operation
Should some desperate need
Apply beyond the sweet tones
Broadcast through the speaker
Streaming what bathes me
In warmth, pleasure, peace,
Easing the shake that sometimes
Turns capable hands used to
Calming others into erratically
Fluttering light imprisoned moth
Wings beating away life’s color.