Category: Letters from Poetry

Our hearts finally explode 

and we’re wise enough to 

endure the pain and finally 

realize that we are indeed 

heart broken. 

…Her arms and legs stood out in tension.

If your planning comes to nothing, would it be madness or wisdom discerned?

Never shall we speak foolish words, for the highest order keeps guard from such ruin.

And if we ever rebel against the natural orders and course of things, we will witness what becomes of us through the discipline of each of the passing days.

Courage has a curious effect, it reveals apparent improvement when persistence arrives in time to save us. Consistency watches over what is worth keeping for the longer path ahead, while gratitude speaks boldly of abundance. 

In the end, personal growth  joins its forefinger with its thumb, forming a profound circle, a quiet symbol of how deeply pain and wisdom are integrated together.

“I didn’t know,” I said, my friends thought I might be inside a burning house.
But drawing into the shadow of that house in flames,
Watching the sparks fly,
Saved me from procrastination.

I nodded solemnly,
Raising a quiet salute
To the lives of my friends and family.

“Live and love,” declared the highest of orders.
“Commune and understand, and whisper, too,
That I dwell here.”

Will this philosopher fall ill with grief?
I pointed to my own chest.

And when I saw things begin to shift,
My eyes lit up.
The winds of change
Skimmed the skies
And were cleansed.

Comparison lifts.
Perhaps the spirit world’s tracks
Are becoming visible.

Beware the soul that bleeds,
And follow.

You may yet learn
To become Light.
And walk gently,
Lightly,
Through the world.

The news came early, and still, they wished they had more.
The essence of life seemed tangled with the essence of men, and saints alike.
Everyone suddenly felt connected to the news.

Images formed, of dreams once considered, of paths long abandoned as impossible.
The men looked back in regret.
The saints, however, looked forward.
They bought new clothes.
The Good News had satisfied them.
And they were content with what they had.

You can be stout and slow,
With eyes that twinkle in friendship.
The kind who calls out “Good morning!”
And in the midst of a laugh,
Makes us remember flowers.

You can hum under your breath,
Roll a coin back and forth over your knuckles.
Make it spin and catch the light.

The point isn’t to feel great.
The point is to be great.

Let the quiet gestures speak.
Let small joys mark the day.
Because greatness isn’t loud,
It’s steady, kind, and unmistakably present.