Time.
An ever elusive currency.
Slips through your hands the instant it arrives.
Never to be replenished,
no matter how hard you try.
No refunds.
No exchanges.
Destructive editing, upon attempting to revisit
past time.
Pain.
Joy.
It’s all fleeting.
It’s all expensive.
It’s all finite.
Instead,
embrace the moment,
the lesson,
and
by default,
perhaps growth.
Don’t waste in vain a truth you cannot change.
Tick. Tock.
Spend it wisely.
Dear magic:
Thank you for revealing yourself through my kids.
I bare witness to you, each and every day.
You are real.
And I am
forever grateful.
It’s wherever I am, when I’m with you.
Through the thickness and
thinness of this
journey.
We came upon each other.
Two precious stones.
Perfectly imperfect.
Together, we found and find
a way to keep paving.
Carving.
Sculpting.
Together.
Molding our
love
into one precious stone
to weather all seasons.
To admire it’s imperfections.
Perfectly imperfect.
Crafted by merging two spirits.
Together.
Two precious stones.
Together.
To build a home out of precious stones.
Your heart
is my home.
Our precious stone.
Dedicated to the love of my life. 8 and a half years, side by side. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Rhythm and conformity
Artists orchestrate emotional evolution, compel inner reflection.
Lead your obedient, eager soldiers. Though they may, at first, appear hesitant, it is because they fear the foreign until they become fluent in the language that you speak, and assimilate accordingly, spreading YOUR message, gifted to them.
Share the gift that only you can give, with your unique stroke of beauty, enlightenment, from your magical palette.
Breathe life into their tender, untended souls. Enrich them with spirited challenges.
Be the change, they so desperately crave.
Grant them the permission to live all the colours of this collective, ever so beautifully evolving palette that is us.
To know better…
is to no, better.
To know better…
is to grow, better.
No need to sharpen that pencil…
To produce a moot point.
No need to ink up that pen…
Only to anoint…
breathe life into…
That
which
is
untrue;
A song with new lyrics, no meaning, no feeling, no beat.
A song retired, no need to repeat.
Instead…
I’ll dust off my dance shoes…
put on a new tune.
Press my favourite dress and kiss with
my favourite shade of rouge.
The night is young and
This new beat
just
hits
different.
