Bright-eyed young girl, Curious and crafty, Let’s start a project and learn to crochet. Tiring quickly, She abandoned the lesson. She couldn’t see past the first stitch- Obsessed with chains, with growing taller, The neverending line of connection So easily unfurled. Chains, chains, chains. Chains everywhere and every day. Quickly and carefully created by this crafty girl And unraveled even faster, The impermanence of childhood Displayed through her repetitive ritual. She lost interest as quickly As any other once-inspired child, And many years without crocheted chains passed Before a spark of inspiration woke her from her daze. Timid hands picked up threadbare yarn, dusted with age. Fingers moved as if possessed, Creating chains came so easily And her inner child was elated by the familiarity Of her once daily routine. The desire to unwind, to unfurl Pulled so strong within her, But the necessity To create, to give life, to build something that matters Overcame all else. She kept making chains. She made chains and then kept working. She kept building on the foundation To create something strong Something useful Something beautiful for herself. For herself, she kept creating.
Fate took control
A force to be noted
Unfolded from the start
Of an unknown tune-
A pick against taut strings
Rock the house of our future
Transforming into a dance floor,
Den of movement,
For which we travel through
Until the court rules
Whether our lives
Will be forever intertwined.
Welcomed by wires
Vocals and vibrations
Timbres, tones, tunes
To create the sounds
That whisper sonnets in the air
Healing the hearts of broken lovers
And curing loneliness through the creation
Of a unity of individuals.
Walking miles in their shoes-
Traversing treacherous terrains.
No haven in view,
But we keep walking-
I keep walking
Despite blisters brimming with blood.
Regardless of where you’re heading
I shall follow.
Self inflicted punishments
Punishing a wounded soul.
Soulfully devoting kindness
Kindly protecting others
Otherwise left forgotten and alone…
Alone in abandonment…
Abandoned, with long forgotten hope,
Hopelessly she falls
Falling toward an invisible self.
There was a man that spoke in sonnets
A language native to my yearning ear
We shared our secrets in permanent ink
And laughed at trivial reality.
There was a man that spoke in fragments
Broken language here and there
He talked and talked as I listened
And silently loved him in my dreams.