Tag Archives: life


The pain in my heart
is not for that
who has passed,
dear friend.

The pain in my heart
is having to watch
you fall apart,
again and again.

as I stand idle by,
there is nothing I can do
to make you understand.

Grief is a hard thing,
a battle of the inside.
But its necessary
and unfortunately out of command.

Dear friend,
Time is a current
that flows with no restriction
and with it,
I am certain,
you will come back to me
feeling life more
than when you began.


I caught my reflection today.
The face was older than I remembered.
Lines stretched from corners.
And blotchy dots lie just below the surface.
I think what startled me most were the eyes.
Coarse, green circles that seemed to bore right into me.
There was still quite a bit of light to them.
But age had altered them, too.
It’s a funny thing,
my reflection.
My body continues to become defunct and rigid.
But my mind feels as though it has grown younger
and vivid.


An ant carries a crumb
three times the size of its body,
working his way across
a hot desert of pavement and stone.
Each crack is a canyon
and each pebble is a mountain.
Forward he moves.
Nothing will stop him.

For his colony and queen,
he marches.
Delivering this token
will bring the pride he has wanted
though the sun scorches his path and
the wind is unyielding.
Forward he moves.
Nothing will stop him.

Patterns in the summer sky
form the warning of rain.
He senses the ground’s stingy hunger
for drops that would only bring
a deadly pain.
Faster he will pace
as his tiny body begins to shake.
Forward he moves.
Nothing will stop him.

Shadows drift and sway,
pervading the world around.
Reverberation of the ground.
The black speck that forms his face
is held in fear.
He knows that giants are near.
Forward he moves!

But time is cut short.
Flattened into a mess of
spindled legs and wiry blood,
he is dead upon impact.
The crumb floats over the scene
to a destination unknown
and the world forgets the ant
and all that he has done.


You weren’t always like this.
Were you?

You were young once.
Full of some dreams.
You had an imagination.
An ambition.
Going somewhere,
beyond the borders that
tried to define you.

Then something happened.
We’ll call it
to make it feel ordinary.
To make it feel normal.
It happens to everyone,
doesn’t it?
We all go through

You know that’s not right?
Don’t you?

That’s just an excuse.
A way to blame the world
around you,
instead of looking at yourself.

didn’t happen.
But reality did.

Things got harder.

Responsibility became a hounding force,
not an exciting endeavor.
Freedom still keeps you bound,
more than it ever did before.
Dreams were strangled
by sarcastic faces and wasted time.

You know you can still change it?
Don’t you?

Those things didn’t disappear
or become unreachable.
It’s only yourself that stops
the future you crave
from happening.

So don’t sit there
and complain to me
about this “Life” and that.
These are all your choices.
And this is your outcome.

Take hold of what you have left
and move on with it.
Move forward.
Move further than you think you can.


Like a rushing current, she wailed on and on. Drowning out all sounds but the screech of her own voice.

Miranda tapped her head on the steering wheel. A repetitive motion to keep her steady. God knows she needed to keep steady.

She didn’t have time for this right now. She looked back her daughter who had begun thrashing in the car seat. She beat her legs wildly on the chair.

A stiff tinge of a headache began fogging Miranda’s mind. She sighed.

A shoe flung by her, hitting the dash.

“Riley! Enough!” she yelled. Her irritation grew as she recalled the hour she just spent dressing her. Pulling that golden hair into adorable pig tails that were now a monument to static electricity.

“Why do I even bother?” She fixed her gaze back towards the placid grocery store in front of her. They would just sit here until the tantrum ran its course. Judging by the gurgle scream stage that just kicked in, it wouldn’t be too much longer.

Every time this happens. She’d told Tom about it, but he wouldn’t hear her out. He would shake his head, “You’re a stay-at-home mom. We’re not paying a sitter for a few hours just so you can go to the store. Besides, if it is such an issue, just drop her off with my mom. She can handle her.”

She can handle her. Miranda bit her lip. What was that supposed to mean?

Just two hours a week, that’s all she asked for. For two hours of peaceful shopping with no screaming. No clothes pulling. No offhanded stares from strangers, with their smug faces.

Tom always scuffed at that notion. “How can you be alone with a hundred others parading around the store?”

You don’t know any of them, that’s how. You disconnect. You are just a woman in a grocery store. No more than that. Not a mother. Not a wife.

“Are you done yet?” she asked blatantly to the burping child in the back seat. He eyes were now red and puffy, her adorable blue dress soaked at the collar.

Miranda jumped out of the van and opened up the back passenger door. Her daughter who had so angrily screamed at her only moments before now reached out with longing arms. She unfastened the belts and gently lifted Riley from the seat, wiping her face with the spare pack of wipes she always kept in the back. Riley nudged her head into the nape of Miranda’s neck, curling her fist into small balls against her chest. Miranda smiled at her deeply. If only it would stay this way.


I can taste the summer

in the sounds.

The look of the heat,

wafting from the concrete.


A sugary smell to the air,

savoring memories past.

Memories of youth

and those that I thought

wouldn’t last.


My hear is sick,

you see.

Nostalgic of the thoughts

that overcome me.


There is a pandemonium

that walks around

these crowed streets.

To this place and that,

grouping and touching,

a human need.


They go without destination,

drifting in life’s streams.

They are carried on the current,

no velocity.


We walk the same lines as those before us,

carving canyons and digging deep.


It’s beautiful though?

The patterns that we make.

The shaping that takes place.


We really are part of some great machine.

But it’s beyond us

and only with us functioning

is it complete.


I sliced off its head,

glory in my eyes,

strength in my veins.


With a shovel in my hands,

I struck the bone.

No stopping there,

it must be done.


It squirmed and squiggled,

Oh, no more will it slither!


But now I watch

as another creature,

this one so sweet,

is caught in your jaw,

shaken to the feet.


I cry out,

seeing the pain in its dark oval eyes,

But what can I do?

What can I do?


You leave it be,

On the grass,

I come closer,

Seeing its short breathe.


In its face,

I see its horror,

This is it.

Death is no longer dormant.


I coddle it close,

in my hands,

weeping for the soul,

life has been abandoned.


An act so similar,

did these hands once commit?

They hold him now,



What is the difference

between you and I really?

We created a loss for our gain.

And took it so easily.


Are we just small parts to be played

in this functioning machine,

fueling the cycle,

is that what life is to be?