You’re Alive

holding hand friend love close (21)
When I was a child my dad would count to five,
Say “you’re alive” and I would die –
of laughter of course – and be filled with so much joy.
I feel that way when I’m with you.
Even though I’m just a boy,
And you’re a girl, and we’re friends.
I think about the time that we spend together and I don’t want it to end.
End with you going home, with or to someone else.
If I could be honest – if I could find the words to speak,
If my hands would stop sweating and my stomach would return from my knees,
I would muster up the courage to let you know,
I think you and I
Should be.

Waiting to Breathe


As he steps through the branches and dried leaves, moves past the trees with ease,
he sees his means of ascent.
A set of steps,
waiting in silence,
as if they were holding their breath.
Patiently laying still until the thrill of being used was near.
And he,
he just wanted to be free.
To see life from the top of the mountain instead of the bottom of the valley.
Spent so much time down here.
He took grip of the rail and made his move.
The steps released their breath under his weight.
Exhaling, groaning, sighs of relief:
This is how it was meant to be…

Under Pressure


Craft this creatively.
Let it be painstakingly slow if it must.
To the point where it should collect mold, and rust;
Turn to dust if handled incorrectly.
Do not rush. Handle with care.
Prove that you can still dare to put words into the air
And give them weight.
Heavy as the trunk of a tree that crushes a car.
Brace for impact.
Let this breath, this pen, these words, be felt.
This hand that I have been dealt,
These cards,
These grains of sand,
I will take them.
I will make them work.
You’ll see…

The Calm


The fog hangs in the air like a t-shirt left out to dry. The thickness causes the trees to constantly wave to one another, unsure if their branches can be spotted through the eerie weather. Some trees are more frantic than others. Perhaps the are not waiving in welcome, but in warning: “It is not safe here.” The fog is is in no rush to leave, making its mark on all that behold its presence: “I was here, do not be so quick to forget.”
To escape the looming doom from above, the water leaves its home in the sky and seeks safety in the trees. They offer no refuge, but encouragement: “Continue to flee. Down below; find safety below!” and releases them to resume their descent.
In near silence this transpires, the only sound from the breeze, on guard for suspicious behavior: interrogating the trees, testing the defenses of nature.
They are waiting.