When the world grows
too loud or too fast,
it’s a good idea
to take a step back
and huddle away
into an empty space
where neither sound
nor time
can hurt you,

let silence envelop
your soul—not your self.

Eventually
the grass will grow
and the wind will settle,
all will slow
like in a lush meadow,

and far away
will the struggle drift.

The sky will grow white
with clouds that never rain,
gardens will grow green
without a single ****,

the sun will beat down
not bullets but care,
that nurtures the grass blades
through growth
and lifts the vapour into
the air.

Dimensions and galaxies will
pause,
for the universe cannot
feed.

And all will be.

Our final steps
are never meant to be
one step on the moon
or a leap for mankind.

It was your memory,
intangible.
metaphysically physical
synaptically existing.

My mother's
mothering
mother, Bernice.

or

A lover's
loving
love, Helena.

or

Writer's
writing
wrote, poems.

I refused to let you go
I know that if I did
You'd be gone forever
But you promised
Always and Forever
And I don't want a life
Where promises didn't exist

If only I could fly
Above the clouds
In the sky
No rain or storm to stop me
Just one goal to be
Existing
It’s the most important thing
Trusting on the feathers of my wing
They take me to the end of the rainbow
North, East, South, West
High or low
I’ll have to cross a thousand seas
To show what its worth
And achieve
Existence

I want to live,
Not just exist,
Is what most people say.

But I want to exist,
Not be alive,
I’m just surviving each day.

I sit exhausted every night
Not a single off day in my sights
Working as I wake up, and until I dose off
So busy, my dehydration is discovered by a dry cough

To busy to eat, yet too hungry to carry on
Taking even a little break causes progress to be gone
Disappeared are the days of weekends being a reprieve
As I wipe the tears and carry on by rolling up my sleeves

Some call it growing up, others call it existing
Here I am throwing up, unware of how exhausting
this all truly is
The human body was made for pressure, yet I cannot reassure
If I am tired out of hard work, or hardly getting things to work

The weapons must have succeeded, the attacks seem to have landed
Stuck in this workflow I feel stranded, and yet life has still demanded
I wake up and smile, and sleep with the same expression
Is this depression, a lesson, or a trial for heaven?

Sitting down is wasting time, and working with no success is just as worse
Is this a challenge set before me, or some invisible curse
Time and time again, clocking in and clocking out
I sit still, letting it boil, as all I want to do is shout