We are poetry runners....continually chasing the intangible and weaving words we want to taste. So let me run to you until my words spiral and my legs fail me and we are

alone.

I still can't believe you are going home so soon,
a million miles away it seems,
but you won't forget me or any of us,
for you have a heart humble and kind that will
never stop loving. . .
and I'll always have your encouragement
with me in my life.

Opposition to an act is not hatred toward the persons involved. Everyone is entitled and encouraged to fight for what they believe and what they know as truth.

You made it, you realize. Like rest after climbing a mountain and finding that the active volcano you feared would consume you in your childhood, is now dormant. And you are relieved...

Looting warehouses for scraps of cool metal chains, because I need to hold onto something, anything.

Living to write; writing to survive.

Music is hope and inspiration, bringing life to the heart, helping it restart again,
and making a place where you belong.

Time is constantly coding me, giving me deadlines saying there will never be a chance to write what's in my heart. But I disagree. I say there's time for the soul, and that the treasure of time can be found through the healing of words.

Poetry is food God gives me for when I am barren, alone, and with no sense of clarity....

Words can be rushed, picked apart, put to sleep....but the heart, the heart my love cannot be forced to tell. It must tell love on its own.