The Biome of Our Collective Soul
When we hate, we hate ourselves.
We are a biome, as above so below.
Poetry
The Mist Took Life and the Hand of His Forever
After midnight, the dark mist began to swirl between the trees. Bleeding tendrils of ink, the fog sought its prey. Creeping silently, it spread from the shrouded forest. Dread, as if palpable, crawled ahead of the eddying shadows. Exuding malevolence, the midnight haze poured towards the sleeping town.
The Sun
Visiting Your Grave
The Internal Dialogue of an Extreme People Pleaser
Heart Disease
Obsolete
Comet
Singularity
a star no more, gone
Pieces Fall and Pieces Gather
Threshold
The edge of the rest of your life
Threshold … the point, the verge, the beginning
of something wonderful, something momentous
when you take the first step on a journey,
when you stride through a door,
when you begin a new endeavor,
you are on the verge, the edge of the rest of your life.
