In real life,
princes are the ones
who hold your hand
when you’re sick,
and help potty train
the kids.
Real princes don’t
feed you fairy
tales or promise
butterflies and
rosebuds.
Chances are your
prince is already there,
right in front of you,
princess.
No foe,
No adversary,
Is as merciless
Or as relentless
As one’s conscience.
No jury,
No court,
Can impose
A sentence as
Daunting as one’s
Own internal judge.
No time,
No distance,
Will erase the
Guilt of betraying
One’s own moral compass.
The human heart,
with its four chambers
looks nothing like a
valentine heart.
Yet, I love you
with my whole heart:
Both atria, two ventricles,
and every valve, too.
Now if that
isn’t romantic,
then I don’t
know what is.
Peace, people!
Real life is not pretty;
although, it may have
moments of incredible beauty.
Real life is not romantic,
yet often has the power
to take one’s breath away.
Real life is not easy,
but living well is always
worth the struggle.
Real life is not for wimps
or for those afraid of
sustaining commitment.
Real life is for those
who know the power of
family; the power of love.
A life is more or less what
We choose to make of it
Choose with great care:
More love
Less censure
More acceptance
Less disdain
More family
Less conflict
More hugging
Less pain
More peace, people!
having tried in vain
to wrest me from my slumber
small cat snuggles close.
Right here.
You can’t see it,
but there’s a
tiny cut,
horizontal across
my soul.
It intersects
another
slice at a
right angle.
Normally I’d
enjoy such
precision, but
this array
is more
disturbing
than
appealing,
And totally
unnecessary.
If I choose to wander
too far afield,
If I climb too steeply,
If I dare to chase a vague dream,
Will you choose to catch me?
If I do not always get the
words just right,
If I don’t always discern the truth,
If you and I cannot agree,
Will you still value me?
Or must I fit into the box
we’ve constructed,
the comfortable conveyance
that defines my role
for you to deem me worth catching?
He offered her a cloth
of intricately woven golden
threads, beautiful, yet
comforting, a shelter from
her storms.
Gratefully she accepted his
gift of warmth and love,
marveling at the complexity
of the workmanship and moved
by his generosity.
Bound by his offering, they
found peace and filled
their lives with love and
laughter, until she
noticed a tiny imperfection
in the cloth.
It wasn’t much, just a hint
of gray in the golden threads,
but it caused a dissatisfaction
in her restless spirit, and
old storms brewed anew.
Try as she might she could
not ignore the gray amidst
the gold.
Maybe, she thought, I can just
pull out this thread and all
will be well with my heart.
But once begun the task had
no end.
Gray became the color of
her discontent. One thread
led to another until she
touched more gray than
gold.
He watched her snipping
threads, not knowing how
to help, loving her even
as she worked at dismantling
his gift, his heart.
In the end, she sat alone
surrounded by threads of
gray and gold.
Too late she realized
the gray strands
were ones she’d added to
the tapestry by joining
her life to his.
Don’t mind me.
I’m gingerly negotiating
this space fraught with
ideas, absurdities, and
irreconcilable differences.
I’m of a mind to
chuck it all and navigate
someone else’s field for
at least a little while,
and see what may be gleaned.
Speak your mind
before someone else does
the speaking for you. Don’t
worry about the shrapnel;
it only hurts when they laugh.
Never mind.
This is mostly illusion
anyway, although most
of the pitfalls are real
and possibly explosive.
Mind your manners;
they will come in handy
when you have to deal
with the after effects
and resulting injuries.
Keep an open mind
and don’t judge others
whose fields might not
be as fertile as yours.
Boom! One step too far.
Praying for Eyebrowz 