As within, so without. I held a handful of life and light, A head full of words and wisdom, Legs restless with youthful energy, And a heart overflowing With mercy and grace. Yet, As the years gathered around me, I found myself sinking deeper, Even as I continued to rise Through every season of my journey. When I wandered Into the jungle of agony and pain, Every bird, Even the crows, Had something to say, Yet none spoke. Every tree held a joke, Yet the forest remained silent.

Some people walk into sadness the way dusk enters a room — without asking permission. They let it pass through them like weather through open windows. I do not know how. I run until my lungs run empty, until my body forgets its name, and it finds me — beneath the practiced smile, behind the masks I call kindness, in the rooms I lock behind me — even when all I want is to stop wanting. Sorrow was the first thing I learned to carry without dropping. Still, I know the shape of i

If I had to rule the world, Ruling it would be no worth. For there have been rulers before me too, But what conquest did they bring through? Did they made the earth flat? Oh yes, they once believed this for a fact. Or could they order storm and rain? If not this, what exactly was his gain? Could they create a way between water? For safety and betterment of the latter. And who was the one who crowned me? Zeus himself, do you believe me to be? I know no more than poetry. Oppose

Why do I need the world's vast, sweeping view, When all my longing is fulfilled in you? Is there a greater truth beneath the sun, Than losing all for her, the only one? What is the worth of life's brief, fleeting breath, If in her soul my spirit conquers death? Am I not dead to all the world implies, Alive alone before her searching eyes? Does it matter if I cast away my name, My past, my identity, my pride, my shame? When she is my god, the savior of my mind, My purpose, my

I will shed no tear for the tree reduced to ash. It will be mourned enough by mouths that do not truly care Instead, I shall squander paper with extravagant hands, filling its pale remains with these very lines a second felling, performed in ink. The climate will warm. The pages will yellow. The words themselves will one day burn. And I will rehearse the familiar liturgy: "Save the trees." "Tell everyone." "There is still time." Yet warnings, like smoke, are easiest to admire

“You’re so pretty,” I say Twirling your hair in my fingers, looking at you as if I were to pray God's never been my friend I’ve never been one to pretend You look at me like the sea And when your head is in between my knees I find my true religion Just beneath me