Strange remote corridor with cement walls flaking into watery step-stones, dark found a friend, and we walked; alone sings a nothing and what a funny thought came to mind about let freedom ring. -M. Taggart
I’m not proud of everything that I’ve done
but I am everything I’ve done.
You see the beauty of the unrest
in the eyes of the most beaten,
they know where the light fills
Just outside my window
begins the entire world
where everything is the
Love is not alone.
All of the ugliness is why. It’s why we sit in front of reflecting windows, looking, wanting; a push of a something is more than nothing, it’s what we wish to be-
while the word of the ready readies, “I miss you,” normalizing time, crackling, being, and seeing the window watching ourselves turn to stone like the un-shifting; unwillingly we see it so nebulously, we crawl.
Beautiful voices always have a song.
Be as well as you can
and help others who cannot.
Observing society is like reading Edgar Allen Poe mixed with Mother Nature
While Emily Dickinson watches us all
Respect, the reward for being yourself.