Dreams

I wonder why
our dreams
carry us
across the heavens
on fragile threads,
that could
make or break,
our tender hearts
wandering
like lost flotsam
suspended
in timeless uncertainty,
carrying the smell
of our deep longings
and our flawed humanity;

I guess it takes
one dream
etched across the heavens,
carrying us
toward the darkening light,
to find our roots
or wings.

Roots

and so that
my intricate world
can entangle with yours,
my veins of blood
can mix with yours,
my fragile walls
can crumble with yours,
my engraved lines
can smudge with yours,
my restless thoughts
can dance with yours,
I grow roots
into your heart,
your soul,
so I can feed
and feel mine,
for what are surfaces
but depths
into the pain
of our being,
waiting to be met,
explored,
and loved.

A Flower in a Vase

You don't speak
like
a wild flower
opening
her heart
to a clean blue sky,
you speak but
like
a flower in a vase -
cut off
from roots
that know
only how to
grope and grow
in the sunburnt soil.
There is no
rush of sap
from those
dark crevices
to colour
your pretty face;
only a pale copy
of what could be,
a little water
to keep you fresh
until you see
another day.
You are but
a flower in a vase.

Choices

Thoughts.

Feelings.

Actions.

Choices

are roots

that make me grow

as I grapple my way

through a hidden maze

of endless possibilities.

What I choose 

is connected to

and rooted in

what I don't choose.

Peace

engulfed
in the drone
of an urban morn,
a mourning heart
sinks its roots
into the grounded sky -
a constant reminder
of what could be,
if only I have
the time
and space,
to connect
inside,
to listen,
and simply be
me.

Roots

Roots -
they give me wings to fly,
they give me room
to grow and to rise;
they drive my being,
on this endless path of seeking;
to dream impossible dreams
and to reach for the stars;
they give me life,
they hold me up in strife;
they let me dance with the wind,
as I flow free with life;
they infuse a silent love,
as they embrace all of the earth;
they help me find my way home,
and connect me to my worth.

They will come...

I like to stand alone
sometimes -
the lone tree
in a field of dreams;
roots gnaw steadily, into
stuck-in-the-mud beliefs;
spreading slowly,
grounded in the now;
there's nothing to seek,
nothing to wonder,
and so I just be;
flowers and leaves
grow, and they fall
to kiss my roots -
an offering to myself;
if I build myself,
they will come...
the birds, the bees,
the humans, the breeze;
I'll come alive
in a new way then -
the lone tree
in a field of dreams.

Weeds and Flowers

I thought
I planted flowers,
but what grew out
were weeds;
I wept, I tugged,
and climbed down
to the roots -
to the fragrant, dark earth
from where both
grew side by side,
fragile. resilient.
sprouts of love.