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