A poetic story of sorts.

The winter sun has broken through the horizon, its light unfolding on my fingertips like a tapestry and singing all of my fears to sleep. I see the ocean from a distance, and I hear the sound of lonely waves break against the shoreline. What a sweet melody composed by life’s symmetry. The framework of existence has never been more radiant. “To live is to stand in the wake of death,” I once thought. Now, however, I understand that the way calm waters and raging tides shift beneath the moonlight is nature’s peculiar way of guiding us home. By “home,” I mean so much more than four walls and roof. Home is wherever you feel comfort rest within your bones. It is when the silhouettes of the architecture of the universe seem to dissolve into a lucid dream that merges with reality and blankets your senses with a fabric woven by Wonder herself. Nevertheless, the continuum of life fluctuates. Nothing remains the same. Constant conflict carries on. Everything crumbles.


Life is too vivid for my vulnerability. Often times, I wish for the pain of isolation to fill me up again. I long for the subtle aches of the ever changing weather. I just want to feel something again — something greater than the worn out movement of the invisible machinery rusting inside me. To the world I am dead, but I only lie in a coma with my eyes wide open. There is a man with a dark smile and hollow circles for eyes standing silently by my bedside. He reaches out with his disfigured hand, and suddenly the light dies. Death’s great black wings shelter my soul. The anaesthetic pulls me deep into a forest made of shadows and smothers my body under soil and dirt. I succumb to the darkness, but there is a voice inside my head beckoning me to the light… it’s as if i can almost feel it on my tongue.


Out of the dust of the ground I am carved into existence once more. I am awake. I feel the warm air brush against my skin. I taste the effervescent light. I am alive. Pull back the curtains and set the table. Leave the door open for those who find their way out of the darkness of the woods. Let us celebrate warmth. Pour me another drink for calloused fists unraveling. I propose a toast to all the brave souls who weighed their anchors and raised their sails to the wind, for they were the first to hold this broken world so close to their lips and map every fracture of it to guide countless generations home to golden coasts. Here’s to the horizon. Here’s to the light. Pour me another drink, and I’ll count the stars with my blessings.


As set my gaze upward, there are shapes that begin to come to life among the clouds and constellations of the sky. Images appear from the faded corners of my mind. As I breathe in the cosmos, I am reminded of the people I love and the places I’ve been to. I tried so hard to be different and I swear I’ve grown, but I’m still stuck in my lost years with reminiscence holding me in place and keeping me from breaking. However, I’ve noticed that the more I go back to the memories I treasure, the more they begin to seem like illusions I’ve let myself believe to ease the pain of reality. So I will lock away each moment and hope that, in time, life will draw them back with every detail still intact. Meanwhile, I can be certain of their existence from the embers and the ashes that have eroded with the scent of longing and fulfillment which each contribute a verse to the melody of the sound of settling…


It begins with a soft silence. Hushed fragments of what was once a greater picture now echo through miles and miles of pretense. Every whisper is as loud and as clear as ever, but I neglect each word spoken save for the ones of substance — the ones of comfort. I sit alone and contemplate the world around me. The rapid pace of life soon becomes deafening, but, for once, I don’t mind. The more I listen to the dissonance of this ugly and beautiful world, the more I realize that sadness lives in my outlook on life and that it has stayed longer than anything else. I decide to embrace the voice of sadness, but as I do this, dissonance seamlessly shifts into harmony. Everything starts to slowly dissipate into harmlessness. I come to understand that sadness is the lock on each door that leads to a new season of growth. Happiness is the key, but it will only appear once I come to terms with who I am and genuinely grow from sadness…


Look up at the sky.
Tell me, what do you see?
I make out ghostly vessels sailing
Across the sea of air that floats above us.
Of course, one could simply say, “Nothing but clouds hang overhead,”
But that wouldn’t be any fun, wouldn’t it?
Wonder sleeps between dreams and reality.

Always remember to paint beauty in the monotony of life.