News: My thoughts are clouds I cannot fathom into pastries.

--1 June 2018--

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

July 17, 2018

18.07.17 - Pomegranates & Diamonds



There are so many things I could write about; 
Like how the minor tones of a song make my heart beat faster,
How the touch of silk and satin against my fingertips is heaven -
The glint of gold in the pools of your eyes is a liquid daydream. 
I am drawn to beautiful, broken things. 
The torn wing of a butterfly, the mourning of a dove.
I see reflections of my life in the shadows of the trees,
In the glittering return of my face on the surface of a pond. 
I am enamoured with the way nature woos us softly.
It is an elegant, mildewed love that stretches over time and space. 

I am found, drawn and quartered between triplet beats 
The trembling of a calypso tune makes my hair shimmer gold;
Call it hedonistic, but I love to lose myself in the music -
Sometimes the drums and bass wash me away to a different universe. 
I am left floating between the harmonies, trying to find my feet
So I relegate myself to the beauty of someone else's heart. 

There are so many, many people in this world that we will never know. 
Every life is intricate, like lace and lemons tied up, wrung out, silver and blue
I want to touch them all; my hands seek faces in this blindness. 
I am surrounded by heartbeats and overwhelmed by their complexity
I will never know them all. So many beautiful, intricate lives will expire
And I will never know them all. 

Storyteller, tell me a tale. How were you breathed to life?
How were you broken apart and put back together? 
Fragile hero, whisper your secrets and share your heart
One pomegranate holds the seeds of a future generation
Each piece, a thought and idea, to be planted and grown
And only you carry those seeds. Share your truth with me. 
I am an on-my-knees-kissing-the-dirt gardener,
My hands are black in the soil and carved from the earth -
Delicate and eager, I plant and harvest dreams.
I am a solitary creature of the twilight era,
Webbed in gossamer cerulean, my eyes painted silver
I glance at you and your heart is brilliant gold.

The dreamers of society carry a heavier burden than most,
Wreathed between the crystal tears and streaks of sorrow, 
We hold the diamonds of the darkest nights in our upturned palms. 
And I, twilight mystery, harvest deep into the dreams and hopes
That I carry underneath the curve of my collarbone, above my heart.

Your rose gold haloed soul draws me from my mounds of dirt. 
I am silent and serene - often overlooked, typically forgotten;
Few work like I do, softly in the wilderness, with the jackals and bears.
Few suffer my solitude and churning, cultivated thoughts. 
And even more rare are those who visit my twilit garden in the darkening hours.

Let me serenade you with my dirge; I never have visitors, 
Can I pour you a cup of melancholy? let's sit and sip on the patio
And watch the stars spill sun-soaked glitter across the black
Until the solid velvet sky blushes dawn. 
Will you listen to me share my burden? my heavy, heavy heart
Is weighted down by the thoughts that I grow in my garden of dirt.
If the cold that pierces my hands through creeps to your chest
I will cover you with a cloak of royal red and light a fire
And we can sit up and stare into the flames, 
Watching the shapes of our past deliver memories in their flickerings; 
And your rose gold heart will echo the sentiment of the blossoming fire.

And when you leave - because they always leave - I will watch the sunrise
As the pearls you gave me shift softly between my fingertips. 
It is a delicate thing, this hope we have in our dreams of the night, 
And I plant them carefully under only the brightest of blacks.
My world shifts back to somber twilight upon the sunrise of your leaving
And I return once more to my knees, hands plunged into the dirt
Shifting the soil and setting the seeds for a future of heavy thoughts. 


Signed with roses,

July 16, 2018

18.07.16 - Vases of Flowers {A Poem}



I see them in the low-light, in a silken flavoured glow
With petals blooming softly up against the windowsill. 
I see them in the darkness, in a silhouette of black
As they tilt their faces this way, and the wind fills in my back.

I am rowing for a haven, up against the misty moors
Where I find my heart now steadied and my hopes on dreamers shores. 
I am wilting in the desert but the faucet's drip is steady
And I wish you all could see me, as I step up, whole and ready. 

Here I languish, here I sleep - here my bones are resting softly
In the absence of the heat, where the cold is chill and frosty
I am winter, cold and broken, I am summer, warm and fair
I am autumn, reddened tokens, I am springtime, glow and glare. 

In my stepping, I make indents in the present and the past
And in looking back, I see them, filling up with dreams that last. 
They are broken puddles, rippling in a weathered worn-down path
So I seem to make some progress, but this war-zone hastens wrath.

In the peace-times, in the freedom, I take joy and cherish smiles
Now to banish all the tokens of the fighting that beguiles
All the youngsters to raise weapons and leave raking, bleeding rows
In a tombstone-harvest hayfield, where only sorrows grow. 

In the teardrops that I muster, dripping down the palest cheeks, 
I grow gardens, I grow luster, I grow beauty over weeks
For the pretty things that linger in the corners of your eye
Somehow they are stronger statements of a heavy pain, now dried. 

Out of hardship there is freedom, out of hell and hades gates;
And your simple acts of mercy show a kindness that negates
All unholy words of torment that bleed lazy through your years
For this marbled bold adornment in your golden eyes now clear. 

I speak life and friendship to you, I blow hope into your bones
And I will that you would rise up and take back your simple home
Make it shine with hearty warmness, make it stand out on its hill
That the questing humans yonder will find hope to brave the chill. 

You have purpose, you are needed, and your story should be shared
Because all your battle knowledge could help others, if you dared. 
Be the bold and bravest hero in this world that's upside down
Take the staff and slay the demons; free the princess - save the town. 

You are called to higher mountains, and must travel deeper dales
But you're readied by your warfare, and I know you will prevail. 
So hold tight your sharpened daggers and grit teeth in all resolve
You will stand up strong and steady, for your sins have been absolved. 

I am looking, looking deeply at these flowers on my sill
Now I see them as they are - now I see them as I will. 
They are strong but can be broken by a cruel flick of breeze
But today they're potted stately - though they're small they stand like trees. 


Signed with wildflowers,

July 10, 2018

British Columbia's 2018 Referendum - Proportional Representation vs First Past the Post

Hi folks - today I am going to be bringing a topic to you that has critical implications for the way government is done in British Columbia. My goal with this post is to be open and transparent regarding the pros and cons of each side. Ultimately, I want to provide educational material on this matter so that you, if you are from British Columbia, can make an informed decision regarding the upcoming referendum in October. However, I must note that I am not a political science student; my discussion of this is not a professional discussion and I am certain that there are pros and cons I have omitted simply because I am not an expert in this area. Therefore, I strongly suggest to the residents of British Columbia that you take the time to investigate this matter on your own and form educated conclusions about the options that will be presented to you during this referendum. The British Columbian provincial government has developed a website specifically for the purpose of informing residents of the province on this upcoming matter; you can view that information here: 
See: How We Vote 2018 Electoral Reform Referendum Report

First, let's start with a bit of history so we all have our bearings on the matter. British Columbia became the 6th province on July 20th, 1871. Since then we have had a number of referendums to help mold our government so it better represents the citizens of Canada and the residents of the province. A referendum is defined as a general vote from the electorate (that would be the residents of a province, in this case) on a single political question that has been referred to them for a direct decision. Perhaps the best known case in Canada of a famous provincial referendum was the Quebec sovereignty referendum, which was held twice (1980 and 1995) and turned down by the electorate both times. In British Columbia's case, our Attorney General has recommended that we include two questions in the upcoming referendum, due to the complex nature of the options provided.  

In October 2018, British Columbians will receive a voting package that contains 4 options reflecting how they would like to be represented during a provincial election. Three of those options are in favour of proportional representation (PR) and one is in favour of our current system, first past the post (FPTP). Let's briefly go over the three PR options. 
  1. Dual Member Proportional (DMP): current single member electoral districts would be combined with a second neighbouring district to form one larger region. During elections, two candidates would be nominated during the voting process and voters would choose one of the two options. Seats would be won in two ways: (A) first seats won by the party of the candidate with the most votes for each district, and (B) second seats won based on province-wide results and individual district results. This system was recently developed specifically for the Canadian context and has not yet been used in government. 
  2. Mixed Member Proportional (MMP): each party holds seats in the Legislative Assembly based on the party's share of the provincial votes it receives. MMP combines FPTP at a single-member district level with PR at a regional or provincial level. This system is the only PR option that is currently in use in other countries (such as New Zealand).
  3. Rural-Urban PR (also Flexible District PR): this option consists of multi-member districts. It employs the Single Transferable Vote (STV) in urban settings and MMP in rural settings. This option was developed to address the variable geographic/demographic needs in urban and rural areas. It maintains most proportionality in urban settings and some in rural. This system was recently developed specifically for the Canadian context and has not yet been used in government. 
Our Attorney General has made the following recommendations for the referendum ballot (these could potentially be the questions you will see when you are given your voting package):
  1. Which should British Columbia use for elections to the Legislative Assembly? (Vote for only one.)
    • The current First Past the Post voting system
    • A proportional representation voting system
  2. If British Columbia adopts a proportional representation voting system, which of the following voting systems do you prefer? (Vote for the voting systems you wish to support by ranking them in order of preference. You may choose to support one, two or all three of the systems.)
    • Dual Member Proportional (DMP)
    • Mixed Member Proportional (MMP) 
    • Rural-Urban PR
Before we jump straight in to the pros and cons of the various options available, let's first compare and contrast PR and FPTP. First of all, both general options are voting systems that dictate how we do government. FPTP involves the electorate (us) casting our vote for a preferred candidate - whichever candidate gets the most votes wins. PR involves voting for a preferred party rather than candidate; Legislative seats are given to that party based on the number of votes they receive. With FPTP, the province is divided up into various constituencies based on geographic/demographic units - those constituencies are represented by one individual. On the other hand, with PR those geographical units would be amalgamated to larger constituences so that representation across the province is proportional by number of people. Due to the larger constituency sizes, more than one representative will be assigned for PR.

Votes may or may not be equivalent to the number of seats acquired for FPTP and the winning candidate may not receive a majority vote, nevertheless this system is highly accountable (electorate knows their representative, because they voted for them) and results in the least discord for leadership direction and ideas at a provincial level (as majority government is easier to form). With PR, the votes are equivalent to the number of seats that party receives and the winning candidate does receive majority vote; however, accountability does not exist with this system (electorate does not necessarily know the candidate that will represent them) and discord within provincial leadership is significantly higher than with FPTP (coalition governments more likely to form; less unity for decision making on provincial issues). 

Let's take an example: say you have 4-6 candidates during an election; with FPTP the candidate that gets the most votes wins. So, for instance Canadidate 1 might receive 38%, Candidate 2 gets 15%, Candidate 3 gets 10%, Candidate 4 gets 19%, Candidate 5 gets 7%, and Candidate 6 gets 11%; according to FPTP, Canadidate 1 wins that constituency and will represent that regional district because they received the most votes. On the other hand, let's take a PR example called Proportional Representation - Single Transferable Vote, PR-STV. In this case, each candidate is required to meet a quota to be elected; let's say the constituency requirement is 10,000 votes minimum for representation out of an electorate size equaling about 60,000 individuals. The electorate is directed to mark their order of choices with 1 being their top choice and 6 being their least favourite choice. So if Candidate 1 receives 12,000 votes, they will have already reached the quota and will be elected. Now comes the transferable part of the vote; those extra 2,000 votes will now be considered by their second option and those votes go towards their #2 choice. Whichever candidate reaches the 10,000 goal will be represented. Therefore, it is proportional representation of the populace. The three options provided for the upcoming referendum will take parts of each of these voting procedures to proportionately represent British Columbians.

Therefore, FPTP represents the electorate more fairly at the constituency level and PR represents more fairly at the provincial level. This becomes increasingly important when one considers large urban regions vs smaller rural areas, as the proportion of residents in locations such as Vancouver, for example, will carry a stronger political voice than cities in Northern British Columbia.


Now let's consider the pros and cons of the specific options that will be offered to British Columbias during the October referendum.

Pros & Cons of Dual Member Proportional (DMP)
As noted in the document: How We Vote 2018 Electoral Reform Referendum Report and Recommendations of the Attorney General, the following system tendencies are outlined for DMP.


  • Results are proportional on a province-wide basis
  • Multi-party representation for two candidates; more political views considered
  • Ballot simple for voters
  • Results are not necessarily proportional in each electoral district
  • Many districts served by two different political parties - opportunity for slowed-decision making.
  • Process for allocating second seat is complicated
  • Decisive majority government is unlikely to form, leading to increased difficulty in agreement for provincial decision-making
  • MLA may come from a distant region of the district, due to amalgamation of regions.
  • Runner-up in electoral district may not receive second seat, as second seats are distributed to achieve province-wide proportionality

Pros & Cons of Mixed-Member Proportional (MMP)
As noted in the document: How We Vote 2018 Electoral Reform Referendum Report and Recommendations of the Attorney General, the following system tendencies are outlined for MMP.


  • Ensures proportional results in regions with a large number of seats
  • Simple to understand and easy for voters to use
  • Better representation of smaller parties (i.e., Green Party) as they have a chance to receive seats in Legislature even if they don't win a constituency
  • Local representation not necessarily ensured in smaller electoral districts
  • Some MLAs may not be elected but rather chosen from the party list (according to the winning party)
  • Decisive majority government is unlikely to form, leading to increased difficulty in agreement for provincial decision-making
  • If total number of MLAs does not increase, MMP requires reduction of electoral district numbers to create List PR

Pros & Cons of Rural-Urban PR
As noted in the document: How We Vote 2018 Electoral Reform Referendum Report and Recommendations of the Attorney General, the following system tendencies are outlined for Rural-Urban PR.


  • Ensures proportionality in most provincial regions, particularly districts with a single transferrable vote (STV) and >4 MLAs
  • Local representation in rural districts maintained with small/medium impact on existing district size
  • Provides less proportional representation for rural districts than urban districts.
  • In STV regions, independent candidates have a high change of being selected, leading to higher chance of instability at a provincial level
  • Complex to understand as it utilizes two voting systems: STV and MMP
  • Decisive majority government is unlikely to form, leading to increased difficulty in agreement for provincial decision-making

Pros & Cons of FPTP
As noted in the document: How We Vote 2018 Electoral Reform Referendum Report and Recommendations of the Attorney General, the following system tendencies are outlined for FPTP.


  • Each electoral district represented by a single member
  • Simple to understand voting process
  • Better representation in rural districts
  • Easier to form majority government; decision making process more decisive and stable
  • Excludes small extremist parties from the provincial decision-making process
  • Does not often produce provincially proportional results.
  • Produces single-party majorities that typically win less than the majority of popular vote
  • Does not represent voters who choose small parties

In the event voters choose a PR representation system, the electorate will be given a second referendum following two general elections. The future referendum will provide the option to maintain the selected PR system or switch back to FPTP. This will allow a test-run of the adopted PR system in the event the 2018 referendum results are against maintaining FPTP.

I encourage my British Columbian readers to look further into the options that will be available during the October referendum. It is important that we are all well informed on the matter before voting so that we can choose the option that will best represent our interests, both as individuals and as a province.


Signed with sincerity,

July 9, 2018

18.07.09 - The Politics of the Fox

They are the hunters, we are the foxes - And we run
I love a good challenge - an adventure, something that sets my mind on fire. I had a very enjoyable weekend and this free-verse is my introspection on the matter. 

I'm also exceptionally thrilled that Twenty One Pilots is coming back very very soon (I can hardly wait for them to start being active and STOP with all this secretiveness - I mean, it is amusing but I miss them!). The thought of new music is making me antsy and I can't wait to hear what they've written this time :) 

Anyway - that was an aside - so today's poem, as mentioned, involves thoughts on my weekend. I've taken to writing down my contemplative moments as free-verse poetry, because it almost helps get the concepts out of my head and onto paper in a better fashion than journaling about it does. Simply saying things as they are is never the fashion of the world, right? So if I can be symbolic, embellishing the facts with flowery words (which I am forbidden to use in my workplace *sad face*), then it takes on a special meaning to others, according to their own situations, and remains solid and beautiful to myself. In any case, I hope you enjoy my ramblings - perhaps they will be useful to your own moments of introspection today :) 


Every swirling mote is a half-formed thought that can't quite be captured. 
I'm sitting, watching the spinning lights on the ceiling, in time with the waves, 
Listening to the ebb and flow of conversation around me - it glows like they do. 
Some talk about the beauty of the boat - a capital investment they say; 
You should invite your friends and party on the weekend, put on a mask
Put on several masks and be free. I smile and tilt my pointed chin - I don't subscribe yet. 
Grey old foxes with their well-groomed tails and still-sharp teeth flit back and forth -
I am not yet singled out, my red coat glistens off the sun piercing the water
And I wait and watch and absorb the sounds and tones of this afternoon. 
I am the youngest fox aboard this ship - I am clever but green, 
And my play of this game is something I still tentatively test with a delicate forepaw. 

The dance is so beautiful but haphazard at the same time - 
A lot of posturing, a lot of carefully shifting words, a well-timed laugh, 
The right sound, the right glance, the right placement of a shoulder blade. 
I am learning from the chiefs, with their feathered crowns tapering tall and proud. 
Everyone is a well placed chess piece on a political stage, 
But with this game, an awful lot of money, charm, and bodies lay in the balance. 

"You intrigue me," plies the old grey fox, his shifting eyes flick and flare 
It's underneath the surface that the fun begins. I return the gesture - 
Soft, quiet, memorable - a lift of the brows, open eyes, young and curious
I play this game for two with forty seasons experience - teach me more, senpai. 
The grey fox speaks in circles and covers his trail expertly, laying tracks in the snow
If your nose isn't keen enough to track it, the trail vanishes before long. 
I track it with experience, and I grin a toothy grin and sweep cedar boughs over my own path.

Perhaps the best advantage of being young and looking younger is underestimation -
They always underestimate you when your eyes are large and wild and your coat new. 
My red coat shines with gold, stark and vibrant against the flush of greys and silvers;
They notice but say nothing: Keep pace little fox, keep up with the rush of the tide,
Feel the winds blow this ship out to sea; follow the trail little fox, keep up with us!
I pant and run, my fur slick with salt spray, my keen eyes following the chase, 
I keep pace, my strength isn't in my running but in my bones;
I feel alive. These games they play, this chess, this marvel of interaction - 
This is what I love - it nourishes my wild spirit and my heart races from the run. 

Everything is symbolic. Up-swept perfectly pinned; shadowed eyes glinting war.
I run through the flowers, all pink and gold and blue, I am young and eager. 
Everything is a statement. I let them see my eager gaze - I let them think 
They think what they think they decided, but I run this show inside my circle -
Perhaps they own the stage and of course they move their own pieces, 
But I roam free underneath and when they call me out to play my part, 
I play them. 

There is a certain rush that flushes your veins when you run with the pack. 
It's even more fun when they want to play - and suddenly, you're not alone. 
But they play well and I am young, so I sit to the side, part hidden by shadows, 
Watching, observing, learning from the mistakes of the fools
And sharply noting the smooth alphas dancing around betas. 
I am an alpha, but I am young, and I can't show my cards yet -
So I play submissive, and perhaps they notice, but more likely they don't. 
I am underground, beneath the stage, secret, waiting for my turn at the point.

The wash of cool blue crystals sink around my paws as the ship plunges, 
And I am caught up in the beauty of it all - 
This is the beat of society, the pulse of the continent - 
And I am at its throat, watching and learning. 
And I am intrigued. Very, very intrigued. 
Play me, and let me play you - 
It takes two to run this game trail. 


Signed with an ink pad,

July 7, 2018

18.07.07 - Grey Fleece {A Poem}

In contemplating the last week or so, I simply decided to sit down and let my heart write something. This free-verse poem was the result.



I'm wrapped up in my grey fleece blanket, near the hearth where the fire flickers warm. 
My thoughts are fluffy cotton balls of a night prior, and they hasten here and there - 
They cross before my shaded eyes, on replay - a silent movie - a gossamer globe.
I hold a dark cup of strong coffee. It is a golden glow between my palms,
My always-cold fingertips brush the crooks and cracks of the mug, 
For familiarity grows friendship and I am desperately in need of kind words. 
My sketched silhouette is grey beneath the blanket: faded, washed out, 
In a painted but never re-dipped fashion and my edges are out of focus. 
The coffee helps. I am stolen by its curling charm. The clasp it takes beneath my ribs. 
And that every-present silent movie; I see the shifting shades of people,
Of hearts beating in time with the dance of life. In time with the bruises and buoyant smiles.
There is an exchange of grace, an exchange of words, and exchange of looks. 
I am breaking down the pieces of my memories into cornmeal -
To set on the stones over the fire - let rise, let shape. That history may be healing.

My constant breathing in and out is sometimes such a bother,
The waves of air, as if fluid in perspective, sweep dangerously against my throat
And I am living - in this moment I am breathing - in this very sentence I am alive. 
The flowers growing by the side of the stream, all those soft pinks and dazed oranges
Those I shelter with my memories, those I grow inside my mind, better and brighter
And I nurture this peace, ever soft and tentative in its presence, I hold it close
Between my heart and lungs, caged by ribs in a temple of bone. 

Offers should not be made to forfeit your values and morals. 
To give one inch of who you are for the sanctity of false peace is an abomination. 
Let the tide grow violent against your forehead - let the winds sweep you down 
And on your knees, hold fast, for the breath of life you tucked beneath your tongue,
That breath of life will sustain you from one moment to another -
From one hurt to one trial to one hopeless night to one prison
And in your holding on to that breath tucked beneath your tongue,
You will find it measures more than all the false light brightening the tightness of your face. 

I have a single breath beneath my tongue, I have held it year after year, diligently
Never letting it go - never denying its presence - always protecting it.
That breath gives me life, gives me freedom, gives me hope, gives me joy.
Some days I think it's missing - all tucked far back and curled up -
But some days I fear it will loose a powerful war cry and I don't know what's more terrifying
Being in control but lacking courage, or being courageous but lacking control. 
And so I have hunkered down here in the trenches of this hellhole 
When I fell from the sky and dropped into this battle, all covered now with mud and blood
And I crawled on my belly into the safety of the ground as the shells exploded over me

The lives of humanity are sustained on the thinnest of wires - 
An art of trembling, between the frailty of life and death, toppling one way or the other. 
Even in this mess, this violent bruised mess that scatters drops of hot rain 
And pierces the night with a vicious searchlight, seeking to peel back your eyes 
So reality might be overlaid on the lies of the pallid everyday --
Even then I hold this breath beneath my tongue and my heart steadies its rapid beat
And I find my reassurance in a hope I cannot explain; that one day this will be over
One day I will be dead. But that's okay - let's not be too morbid - sometimes death is life. 

I'm still sitting by my fire - wrapped in this grey blanket, contemplating sternly 
Between my mug of coffee and my hardwood floor. I think I might have been too bold
But boldness is a testimony of our hearts, for if in truth we speak our souls to life
Then perhaps someone will listen and watch and realize - and perhaps someone will join
Back in those trenches, where my spirit wars daily against a seemingly hopeless tide. 
I'm not saying it's easy. And of course, when you're in the war, never let it be said 
Never let it be thought that to seek death is what every soldier does. 
No. Not at all. Rather, in those moments when the shells shatter over your head
And your heart skips a beat as you watch someone's arm disappear,
You cling tightly to life - more tightly than you have ever clung before. 
It's in those moments where you're on that edge and the realization is so crystal clear
That life becomes all you see, all you feel, all you smell - and you reach out and touch it
Because it is even bigger than the universe and you are speck. Yet life chose you
And so though you are surrounded by death, the dead, the dying, 
You hunker down in your hellhole and, feeling that inkling of breath beneath your tongue
You maintain your position though it might cost you your very life. 
For we are called to be conquerors - bold and courageous - living not in fear.

I was going to say I'm sorry if this disturbed you; but I'm honestly not sorry. 
I think that's just the thing that people say when they want someone to feel better. 
I want you to feel the edge of my sword - see how sharp it is? Look into my eyes
See how terrified I am? Yet, I am still here, I am still full of glorious purpose 
And in this very moment, I am hoping against all odds that you will join me
That perhaps one single sliver of clarity will cross before your sight 
And you will grasp my hand - rise from the dead - and fight this battle with me. 

My coffee is a little cold right now, but with all the thoughts making this silent movie,
I'm okay with that. It is a reminder of the chilling reality we live in, 
And symbolism has always been something I adore. I'm sure you've noticed by now. 
My blanket is my shelter - I am crouched and sitting softly in the hallowed silence
These thoughts are no longer fluffy cotton balls; they've taken new shape and form
And now they parade as knights in armor, vibrant and shining against the firelight
So I will send them out, to the dreamers, to the dying, to the dead -
Hear, hear, my friends.



Signed with patience,

June 19, 2018

18.06.19 - On the Brink of Life {A Poem}


My mind is a golden pool and I stand before it thinking softly to myself. 
It is flecked with memories and shattered concepts 
Things that were true but now I know are false. 
Thinking is heavy and it weighs my soul down. 

I am laced in wisps of light and lemon leaves and the fragrance of mystery. 
I am dark blue and sapphire and melted silver 
My eyes are molten rocks that hold the oceans in place
And the tide laps against my lids and I look at the world with fire. 
My bared feet are naked against the chipped earth,
They are calloused and muddied and frosted from past trails of the deep night. 

I am a wanderer, wandering aimlessly with no where in mind. 
I am a lost child, seeking my father, breathing in liquid sunshine. 
I am a calloused heart, wrought through and through with golden pain, 
And I am a wild thing, winging my way to places where I might feel again. 

I have wearily traveled light-years to make it here
Where I am bound now by the push and pull of this scenic sphere
I feel too little and then I feel too much and I feel I must be broken inside
Because in my feeling I'm lost to the sweeping toss of a deadly tide. 

I was once accompanied by threads that tied me to my home
And those threads were laced into my sinew and bones
And those threads were memories of where I have been
But they abandoned me when I broke within. 

Now I am free-floating through a hazy, smoky atmosphere
Breathing in the misted dust of a wandering traveler's fear. 
I am purchased by the blood of a Man I never met
And I am free-floating wishing for someone who could sever my debt. 

I am blood and bone and sinew beaten thin
I am ocean grace and sky and clouds of red and marbled sin
I am silk and swift and flitting; a form of mist
And I am hazed and hallowed in my final kiss. 

I am breathing in the ocean spray and forest fog
And my backbone rakes the passes like a jagged cog
And I am on my knees, I"m pleading for reprieve 
Because I cannot see and I can't seem to breathe. 

I am pine and spruce and fir and scattered roads
And I am searching for a soul to help me heave these loads
I am waiting by the river, can you hear? 
Can you hear me calling, can you see me clear? 
Can you help a wander'r find the haven place
When rest is for the weary and they know your face.

I am step-step-stepping in these broken shoes
Through the mud and rain, passing meager clues 
Hoping for a sign that stands to lead me true
Hoping for someone to shade my hopeless hues. 

I'm an artist standing in the rain, standing in the mud
I am lifting brush and paint and cleansing silted blood. 
I am filled with hope that soon this storm will lift
But till then, I'll paint and pray the eyes of hell will shift. 
They've been upon me for so long, I swear they see
But I know I am covered, they cannot find me. 
Yet I am pinned down by the fear that they will sight
A simple move of cloth or clothes or scent of might. 
And so I've waited, eons, eons, here in vain
Waiting waiting waiting for a shift of blame
Yet they stare and wait and circle from beyond
And I am pinned and helpless in this murky pond. 

Can you see my golden light, it's shining through? 
Shining through the haze and reaching out to you? 
Can you feel the love of lasting peace and joy? 
Can you reach and touch and see this is no ploy? 
Look and see, look and feel and feel and feel
Feel the pain and love and know that this is real. 
Take a moment to embrace the sting and solemn song
They are born together, yet some would call it wrong.
I would call it life, it's fullness is a well
And we are searching, searching to escape this hell
But what if hell were hidden truly from our eyes
And what if what we feel is but a masked disguise
And what if we are waiting on the brink of life
And what if we just reach we'd find our way through strife? 

I am clasped in golden arms with purpled veins
And I am here before the throne of Life again
And I am weeping; bitter at the path I tread
And I am sorrowed by the paint - silver and red. 
I am held up by the arms of Majesty
And all my tears stain robes of He who set me free. 

I would have faced the chasm if it weren't for Him
I would have fallen down and down to death and sin
I would have been replaced by but a picture frame
With dead eyes looking out at those who love my name. 
I would have been a memory - a broken sigh
A sweeping pass of dust upon a fractured sky
And all the pain I would have birthed by falling then
I would have triplicated my own very hell in men. 

So I am standing, somber, broken, sorrow-filled
In the arms of He who knew my path with pain was tilled. 
And though I feel and feel and feel and feel so much
He holds me softly to His chest, and that's enough. 

The arms of He who loves me are so beautiful 
They bear the scars of love, for me, which was His will. 
He burdened down His back with heavy, hopeless pain
And bore it strong and stronger still as Life sustained.
As Life sustained His brokenness and beaten bones
And Life filled up His heart with hope from heaven's throne
And Life gave keys to break the darkness down
And Life united us under His holy crown. 

And in His arms, I finally see beyond the bend
Around the corner of this world, into the end
And there I know I'll be restored, renewed, reborn
Again in love, again in hope, again in form. 
My aching feeling heart that once was dead is free
And I am feeling all the things I used to be
And I am feeling all the things I have become
As Life invades my heart and makes Himself at home.

I wouldn't have it any other way at all
Because, in living low, I now am living tall
In stature and in heart and in peace of mind
In joy and hope and patience I'm no longer blind. 
I see the stars, I see the moon and galaxies
I see so much, so far, now that I'm truly free.
I see the path I've taken through the winding dark
And I am moved by love, compassionate at heart. 
I do not walk alone, I do not dare again, 
For now I walk together with my Truest Friend. 
He grasped my broken body from the maw of hell
And pulled me out and pulled me close, before I fell. 
And He now walks beside me through the mist and fear
And He now leads the way that is completely pure and clear. 

I couldn't see it then, I know my eyes were blind
But now that I can see I wish more hearts would find
Would find this perfect hope and know they need not search
Through broken teeth of Hades nor through mud and dirt,
They do not need to tremble as the stars are shooting by
On trembling feet to stand as galaxies arrive
Because in holding hands with He who made their light
I am not fearful, rather I stand strong in might. 

I am not fearful, I am not hopeless, I am not weak
I am strong enough to walk and reach that distant peak
That mountain where my final destination lies
Where I will find the fullest life I see within His eyes. 
I am a golden princess, warring through these skies
And I am bold and brazen, I destroy the lies
The lies that come against me and tell me I'm not wise
My wisdom comes from He who made the stars His prize. 

I am bold and beautiful, and wrought with love;
And I will stay this course and I will track the dove
And I will follow on this path that leads me fast and true
For I am with the One who died for me and you. 


Signed with love,

May 31, 2018

Cobbled Thoughts - {A Poem}


My thoughts are cobbled, like east coast streets. 
They're a jilted refrain from an edgy song
That I hummed to the bass and the drums and electric
Neon sounds staggering through my ears. 
And I staggered too, under all those heavy thoughts. 
Broken up and clay-weighted, packed by hands.

The water drip-dropped from the hose 
My eyes filled and emptied their beholdings 
And the sound staggered by on pegged legs,
Echoing down those cobblestone streets. 

It was a creature comfort of a silver kind
Embellished with streaks of blue and white
And in amidst their wanderings I found heaven. 

Sometimes I walk those memory streets
Arounding the shadows into starlit showers
Where the moon dips low and kisses rooftops
And I watch their affectionate embrace
From beneath my wakeful brows. 
And in their glowing beauty - window-panes reflecting -
I see orange-pink blushing gold awaken 
From a jealous sun rising in a coffee bloom. 
And this beauty ices rolls of cinnamon sky,
Fresh browned from the heat of the elements. 

Pausing on those cobbled thoughts, I breathe
And take in the crisply awakened love of day
From beneath the cloak of night. 
It is in moments such as these that logic takes flight
As a fluttering, fragile thing. 
And I grasp the organized chaos between my teeth 
And revel in the unexpected patterns made
There in glittered ink - from chaos to chorus
A song of a soul appreciating life again. 


Signed with love,
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