unfair

death seems to be all around me. how is it that i've been able to pick up all the pieces and live with it when some others can't handle anything. when will i reach that point of devastation? with my fathers, grandmothers, best friends dad, other best friends mom, many classmates parents, and now hearing my grandfather has decided to accept death, to give up, to discontinue his chemotherapy treatments and is currently lying in a hospital bed in the ICU in brazil? i think ive reached that point. My chest feels hollow.

what?really?!

i need to get off the computer. depressed by reading/seeing on facebook how two of my friends are engaged just today

Collection

Kicking, thrashing, 

She's become lost

gripped in between the claws of life .

The monotonous drone of the swell

breaks routinely, incessantly.

A spectacle of white and green, lures her under

Which,

Lulls her into a peaceful slumber.

The beauty of it all

engulfs, carries,

And caresses the stone in her core.

It replaces the emptiness and fear;

It evades her of all unease.

The ache is inevitable and she

Anticipates

Its return.

Her throat begins to tighten

And constrict.

The feeling of security is now a foreign concept.

She’ll never see him

Again

The salinity from her eyes fades into the depths of

the unknown,

combines with the brine.

They too,

have left her.

A collection of memories most valuable in the world,

Floats away.

She wishes she could collect those tears

And build another him.

wanting

Yet still, each tedious wave crashes upon the shore.
it provides a sense that life goes on with or without you.
But, tell me, why doesn't anyone ask for more?

Day in and day out I'm lying on the floor
scribbling down a line about life or two.
Yet still, each tedious wave crashes upon the shore

It's all an endless, useless bore.
It's as if everything was set to its own cue.
But, tell me, why doesn't anyone ask for more?

Why must life appear to be a list of chores?!
I need enjoyment. I need fulfillment. Would I find that with you?
Yet still, each tedious wave crashes upon the shore.

Be forewarned, what if nothing lies beyond the door?
You're stuck without a clue
But, tell me, why doesn't anyone ask for more?

I feel a longing for belonging deep in my core.
What if it's too late, what if there's nothing left to do?
Yet still, each tedious wave crashes upon the shore.
But, tell me, why doesn't anyone ask for more?

Biggest Fear

Lightning fast the days they pass and turn and whip and I yearn I'm searching for my reason, my will, my passion. No one knows why the days
they fly by.
Can someone, anyone, you there, please catch me. The ground's about to hit
my feet.
I'm falling I'm leaping.
Gravity!
I'm challenging you. The wind whispers secrets to my ears. I'm listening intently yet I hover with
no answers.
Colors fade
with the passing of time and brighten
when i see you smile.
take that gravity.

Ode to Bittersweet Farms

The day begins here:

when the rooster's crow echoes off the mountains in the distance, saying hello and good mornin' to the sun.

I stretch and yawn, and find my way to the kitchen, lead by my mother's voice, "C'mere,

breakfast is done."

I skip, gallop, and run through the moistened grass

towards the winding brush creek.

I whip through the trees and leap through the rocks, pass

through the water, and examine cool shaped stones and crawdads that reek.

The distant distinct cries of the month old babies,

after being taken from their mother, the longing ache of the heifer's heartbreaking shriek

makes me furious at my father and drives him crazy.

But soon, as the calves grow tired and older, my complaints grow unnoticed and weak.

The garden full of roses and vegetables mix
with the powerful stench of the fresh manure.

Down yonder and around the bend is where we set up our picnics,

baskets full of invigorating fruits and homemade meals that draw such sweet allure.

Why must the day end, and with it, the brilliant sun always set?

I wish the colors would last; the reds, the oranges, the pink and yellow hues....

I'll say goodbye again, and I mustn't forget

that I'll see them soon.

Supper is made as we gather 'round the kitchen table.

We share with each other our thoughts, laughter, and ideas

as we begin and end each day feeling like we're able

to do anything that our heart desires throughout all ages.

Rainy days were the days that I preferred;

My body didn’t tremble with each intense strike of lightning in the purple-esque sky.

Aside from new life, rain also taught me that the angels were moving their furniture, with each roll of the thunder.

I felt comfort in the confines of my tin roof house and the tattering of raindrops that tingled gently made me sigh.

As the days turn to weeks, then months, and inevitably, years;

everything must change, life must go on.

My father, my dad, my daddio is always near,

Laid to rest upon that hill, overlooking every river bend, sunrise, sunset, cattle cry, and each mowed lawn.

Again, life must go on in this bittersweet life,

on this Bittersweet Farm.