Poetry from inside a tree


I made mistakes last night. Got swept up.
A part of me lives eternally in the darkness
and refuses to sleep.
It feels good, sometimes, to be her.
But then I wake up in my body, full of regret.


The sun’s soft rays pierce my ankles and wrists through windstrewn leaves. A gentle touch, on my softly and modestly exposed extremities…
don’t we all need that now & then?


The roots are made of the same stuff we build benches out of; except they are the sunset, when the bench is a picture taken with a hazy film.


The most beautiful work we will ever do is to
try anyway.


Everything is worth quitting.
It’s always a good day to give up.
When’s the last time you let yourself surrender?
Like the night finally surrenders…
to allow for the break of dawn.


The Devil is a beautiful part of life, too.
He’s the trickster that breaks us down,
who makes us believe so much in darkness and chaos
that we are startled when the light comes back
to him, too, I must say ‘Thank You’


As we get older we have a better sense
of humor about the Devil’s ways…
I see you, you wry, salty magician
I see your laughter, and match you with mine.


On my left, the roots and rocks and dirt and tree
To my right, a towering building.
I walk the middle path,
with many detours in either direction.


the wind is as much the life in the tree as its leaves
I am as much a part of this world
as all the ones I love most dearly


we forget that we don’t know ahead of time
what surrendering will actually feel like.

and if I surrender to the darkness, so what if it consumes me? I will be at peace, at home…
And then the sun will rise.

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