Pressed wildflowers
Lillies with white and gold
Roses with bright green stems and wicked thorns

I heard you like them,
these flowers are beautiful,
are they not?

Do they look perfect in this light?
Are they too much?
Gold lace tracing smooth glass with a glowing sheen;
have your eyes wandered already?

The white tablecloth makes it all pop!
Red wine and dark wooden chairs
A campfire crackles with the music
It’s too much, is it not?

Writing poetry is a self-centered act
With a chance of rain

A chance to rain on another soul
To create a rainbow-colored bridge of humanity

To look up from ourselves
As we change ourselves, and sometimes the world

Nothing is guaranteed
In this life

Life is what I make it

With any luck, the universe won’t take it

I’ll balance my center
I’ll let go of control
I’ll live for my soul

I’ll breathe
I’ll meditate
I’ll capture my imagination
I’ll put it in a bottle

I’ll listen to my station
I’ll tune my radio

I love chaos
Without chaos, there is no order
We would be stuck on lines
Curves with too many signs

I love despair
Without despair, there is no meaning
Hope would be a dream
Our lives would have no seams

I love hate
Without hate, love would die
We would lose our passion
We would lose the sky

I embrace the balance
The lines, and the squiggles
The sorrow, and the joy
The emotions, and the pain

Echos in the chamber
Who the hell are you?
Does anyone care?

Billions of characters…
Characters will billions of characters
Who the fuck are we?
Does anyone care?

Who gives a fuck?
Really