Writing
Someday
I just might be awake as my fingers reach the keys. Someday my screen might be blank, though
words file through my mind with ease.
Someday I will turn on the light so I can see the letters I type. Someday I will try harder to speak the words
I write.
Said the Pebble
Said
the pebble to the grass,
“This
spot is mine, you will not last.”
The
blade of grass fought but failed
To
keep its spot, the rock prevailed.
Bruised
and nearly broke in half,
The
grass did cry, the pebble laughed.
“I’ll
be back, then you shall see,”
“There’s
no chance of you beating me.”
But
the blade did grow with time;
It
grew into a tree sublime.
At
its roots the pebble sits,
Shifted,
broken, and full of splits.
There I Walked
There
I walked among the stars, asking softly what they are. Dark blue swirls around orbs of light, which
though surrounded, are so bright. My
feet drift among star paths, as I hang them off my raft. Ripples in the universe or perhaps, just the lake’s
surface. There I walked among the stars,
asking softly what they are.
Octopi
I once went swimming in the sea, gliding slowly by
the reefs and through the waves. I soared upon the crashing peaks,
watching fish swim beneath. I felt like a bird. Then upon a pink, spotted, coral I found
brown spiny legs. Eight of them twisted
on the coral, all winding in their own ways, and suckers along each one. I stared at this strange sight awhile and
reached a tentative hand, black eyes glittered with wonder back at me and I
started as the creature spoke.
“Which do you choose of these?” The
octopus asked, holding out its legs as they waved slowly in the current. “You have eight choices, now pick just one.” Fish swam in schools around my head, much
like my thoughts residing there. I
struggled with my choice, first lifting one tentacle and dropping it for others. They all looked the same to me, though I’d
had no experience with octopi.
Eventually I gave up and asked,
“Does it matter, will this choice
last?” The octopus smiled and said,
“It will not matter, if you are
dead.” At once my lungs began to burn
and I spluttered to the top for air. I
sat panting upon shore rocks and pondered the answer given me.
It’s been three years since I’ve been back to sea,
but still I remember now. All choices
are to be made prudently and in order of importance. When thoughts threaten to overtake my head, I
still remember what the wise creature said:
“It will not matter, if you are dead.”
