if the wind were to blow in every direction at once, 

we would levitate

and today it seems that my head is not grounded

for new life, in a way, comes when it may,

and sometimes it can’t, so i kneel and i pray 

to a person i don’t know named god for a cause

to help me make sense of a super charged pause 

and help the pain pass, it’s crucial and lasting and true

and depressing, but what can I do?

I write poetry because it’s tuesday and it goes a little something like:

as the leaves change we all fall by the grace of a difficult breeze

it’s natural to see by ways of science decree and we fill our heads like piggy banks

with cents of forgotten beings we used to be as cogs in a machine

but we are free-er than the sorts of mechanisms we believe to need

we are conscious of the fallen and we hold them in our hearts,

they shrink until we do not need them and they do not need us

a mutual affair

where a flare for the sentimental 

is a daring method of caring

we put our hearts on sign posts, in ink on our arms 

as a warning to others to beware of our charm

and in the moment of not knowing right from wrong 

it’s all gone

and okay by the way that we see the world today

forever is the compass by which we guide the decision to make our minds

mean more than just a passing glimpse of an uncrossable divide

it seems we’re nothing more than the most minute fraction of a  composition 

and here within this living process we’re given the ability to experience solace

so I think my mind onto the language to read my soul’s admitted anguish

and recycle through the path where you are, to comfort me and learn to be

a solid state of entropy.