Leah’s Garden

All credit for image to Fairy Homes and Gardens

This doesn’t feel like the first time I’ve walked through this garden, even if the gate hangs with a different name. The scent of potential hung over you like petrichor drawn in deep and lingering long after the thunder. Half-constructed trails meandered through the beds of saplings, seedlings, and sprouts before disappearing into mere suggestions of where they might continue. The promise of beautiful life elegantly displayed with artistry and love. Grappling to find the light. Just in need of some gentle tending to realize its magic for all to see.

I walked your cobblestones until they turned to dirt and brambled overgrowth. Poured heartfelt time into removing the obstructions so the sun could shine openly and feed the newness aching to reach the stars. Painstakingly watered while I worked, a labor of love. A dream of what was emerging. Marked new trails. Scattered endless new seeds. Coated all the leaves in a spray of herbs and words to drive the bugs away who would seek the generosity of your flesh. Cleared and cleared and cleared the brush, which grew back faster than I could ever seem to keep up with. When my back ached, my hands blistered, and my face was crisp from the sun, I kept at it.

You fed my soul in turn. Nourished my belief in all the possibilities as I saw the petals opening. Sweetly urged me through the darkness of inner nights with the simple innocent affection of new beginnings and growth. I saw shooting stars against my sometimes impenetrable blanket of desperation and fears You inspired me, challenged me, and loved me with bright flowers. Chittering laughter as the wind swept your fragile branches together while a dance of light scattered through your blossoming leaves. Your smile was dew in on grass blades refracting the sun and capturing the world in a sphere. You spoke to my heart as I labored to speak to yours.

I heard the flames crackling behind me as I left, and now all you are is ash.

I had no more water left to pour, no more energy left to give. My home garden needed my love as well, and all my time was spent drifting through yours. I failed to find the balance they both needed, and that failure had a heavy price.

Someday, I hope to walk past your arched entry, to see your name proudly gleaming in gold, friends, and admirers laughing while taking in all the beauty that you are. To know that you burst into life in my wake.

Not because of anything I did.

Because of the magic that has always been you.

Sometimes ash is a better gift than any human effort.

A clean field to start again.

It doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.

It doesn’t mean I don’t wish I’d had more to give.

Or that I hadn’t listened better as you tried to teach me how to tend you better.

Or that I’m not grateful for every moment I was privileged to spend inside your walls.

So very, I wish, I could have, and I am.

Even if you never see this….

….please know I will always love you.

The Middle of the Story

Where our main characters find themselves journeying apart from each other into adventures and places unknown in the hopes that they will reunite as realized and complete individuals on the other side….so we begin in Reno, NV…..

S & H at Taco Loco

Transcribe the hope I feel
into optimism and other such essential stuffs.
Imbibe the flow of sweet spirit
that drips from off our lips and out our mouths.
Believe in dreams meant not to fade
even if the road has twisted uglier and uglier still.
Hold tight to goals we shared
as our footsteps drift further and further apart.
We’re still in love,
and this journey which so profoundly changed us
is not at its end yet – just an interlude.

Missing Flow

Loneliness Sunset
All image credit to this beautiful article and author.

I’m looking for a flow to spew,
to vomit pained fire in words and lyrical nonsense,
drench virtual paper in a cascade of feeling,
wishing for the release of a moment where my fingertips press
onto keys melded into an outpouring of something greater than myself.
I’m looking for a rhythm and a cadence,
and empty hollow to rest my eyes and heart within
where my brain can’t intrude or interrupt
where the language is something not of word
but made of a noise that comes from deeper down
primal and totally absent of definition.
I’m looking for a tapping of keys that harmonizes with my feelings
and that calms waters boiling over with discontent
where monsters lurk and playful creatures breathe imagination
as though it were the purest of air
carefree in their joy and hungers
contented to be their own masters and demanding nothing from anyone.
I’m shaking the trees of logic and thought
demanding that they un-fucking-root and get on with the business of dying
so that chaos can wash over me as a wind of compassion
letting me know that the madness is so very real
that anything else was a facade and an illusion
that its okay and I’ve come home to rest where I belong.
I’m lacing myself with poisons to calm the nerves
incinerating the memories of dreams never to be realized
in pools of chemical passivity
bleeding oil into my disquiet shores
where the glass and sand are never polished and always cut
though they shine like diamonds to lure you in.
I’m hunting for a flow,
that special moment when time collapses on itself and there is oneness
understanding, immutable confidence, and a distant stare
connection to more, recognition and awareness, centered peace,
consolidated thoughts, pacified emotions, acceptance, and satisfaction.
I’m looking for a flow,
one that tells me loneliness is temporary,
and that the universe is there in all its infinity and splendor
ready to skull fuck me back into joy when it feels fit
that reminds me there’s no point sulking and being miserable
this is the human condition in all its shit stained raimants
and that I could be grateful for the ability and opportunity to experience it.
I’m looking for a flow,
but right now I’m just writing, and there’s no flow to be found.


Heartbreak Happens

Too true.

Detest me.
Prevent me.
Direct me.
Understand this isn’t because I love the control,
tt’s because I’m comfortable under thumb.
Glassed over with your capable patrols,
I dream of places where you can’t come.
Starken my blistered eyelids into black,
soothing my hopeless windows into life.
Border my shutters with metal as a rack,
twist out the snips and set them on my strife.
I’d adore you in a thousand ways,
until the sun melted skin to butter.
I”ll adore you for a million days,
until you burn my offerings for another.
Supplant me.
Scrub me.
Deviate me.
A love song played on sickly notes,
I’d choke the lies out as they die in my throat.
Play fragrant music that offends the nerves,
disturb the inoculated innocence I sought to preserve.
Wrap on tightly around the collar,
building up bricks laid as cannon fodder.
Sing back the rhymes I hope will carry through,
but it’s all waste and wasteland even to you.
Describe me.
Vilify me.
Sharpen me.
A knife edge on razors surface,
culls back the meat so plentiful with purpose.
Strips back the layers of beautiful sin,
exposes righteously the soul within.
Expounding virtuous betrayals,
never to be found despite the trails.
Leave me.
Spit me.
Vomit me.
I was never what was good for you,
and now I’ll live marred forever,
lost in this lonely zoo.