Counting 2004

Two, A little girl read from bed a place the sidewalk ends

Three, From there she would grow so low sun won’t show

Four, Found there she ought beware false care that dare mislead her

Five, There she would be for he to see her free for taking

Six, Take he would while she lay without words to say this is not okay though she may dream a different day to fly away


Unknown Fire

How trite it is to write of loneliness which remains unseen, yet deeply felt.

To understand others and remain unknown oneself, is to be doused and smothered.  A spirit burns, rich and full of life, wanting to be known and sought after.  Some may show fleeting interest only to retract immediately as they are burned by blistering intensity.  To be known is more than walking in shoes, it is sliding into skin and morphing the mind into another mold for the amount of time that is required to know the nature of another.  One must be open to discomfort to mold the mind in this way and many never will be.  Countless spirits go unknown; fires decaying to paltry embers, smoldering.  Some allow themselves to be known in this form as a means of survival, yet the truth of a fire can never be known when only observed as the embers it becomes.  The embers reignite at the slightest draft of perceived genuine interest; grating madness seeps in languidly.  The fire can and will go out entirely once all hope has drifted away on a fickle breeze.  The fire will not remain for sheer physical presence because it learns to distrust words and actions that do not align.  The fire learns who is not to be trusted with its scorching intensity.  It smolders on, slowly dying, yet burning as long as there is hope to be truly understood.  As long as there is hope for the desire to understand and the capacity to tolerate the blaze, it smolders on, abiding in agony.




Snow Day