Somewhere down my
Depths of perseverance remains
One last drop of energy —
Don't make me waste it.

Acknowledging life is
A collection of moments,
Rarely experienced in order,
Tell me —
What is the value
Of our concept of time?

It's not a journey —
At least, not a deliberate one —
This push towards maturity.
Mama, take me home.

All weighing us down
But drags these mortal vessels.
On the river Styx
No soul will run aground.
No chains locked in place,
No deeds prevent
The toll we face —
Eternity the currency,
Contribution due for days consumed.
Charon waits.

Value none but one may see,
Disposable contentment —
Plastic sealed, bubble wrapped
Idols of false meaning.

Material envy, greed —
Emotional connections to the soulless.
A path of loss,
A life of grief.

We may not seem much,
Not yet,
But we are they
From whose dreams will
Spring forth the seeds
To fertilize the Galaxy.

Blinding, bleak anticipation,
All beyond the grass is gray —
Where predatory circumstance
Patiently seeks its chance
To steal our moment back again.

Her face, like the moon’s
Reflected another’s light,
Her eyes, like the stars,
Stood distant.

You may watch
The same stars as me
And still see
A different light.

Compassion is believing,
Embracing, not receiving —
Your compass to humanity
Is giving without reserve,
Without expecting a return.

Most talk ain't conversation,
Like most luggage ain't supplies.

Yesterday failed,
So we fear tomorrow
And we hate today —
Nowhere to go,
No place to stay.

Through the fissures bleeds the sound,
A siren song of misery
In words a broken heart can't speak,
Drowning souls in melancholy.

Captured where the warmth has fled,
Shivering, afraid to break
The final strands of perseverance
Tying rationality
To bittersweet nostalgia.

Silent tendrils of temptation
Seeking naught but warm embrace,
Selfless, faceless, unintended
Frozen in our desolation.

Muted light, cast as shadow,
Silhouettes of life, forgotten —
Broken promises of self,
Manifest in longing.

Hearts wither,
Love remains.

Defying conventions,
Logic, and patterns —
It need not make sense
To bring happiness.

Given enough context
Little choice
Is still a choice.