Letting Go

thoughts, like worms 

crawl within the mind

marching inwards

toward the cellar of my soul,

and once inside the darkness

they forget the door.

let them surface from the dirt, 

give them your breath for air,

let the thoughts find the light,

breathe them out, 

and let them free.

for you are but a grain of sand

in the bottom of the ocean,

one sound wave 

among the symphony.

breathe in silence, 

let the moon pave the night, 

breathe out,

and set yourself free. 

in the morning 
thoughts as new as the next page
mother's day sunday 
and mine is oceans away

but I

have a fiancé

cooking breakfast 

bacon 

french toast

kiwi

cantaloupe

grapes in a fruit bowl

shores that once were mine
are no longer

but I

am here

planting my home 
in a heart 

Thoughts

I tell my secrets to the window. 
The glass absorbs my thoughts, like a dream catcher, 
shells me from the outside... (inside,depending on the day). 
And reality stays hidden under the guise 
of an illusion
for a minute longer, like a reflection on the water, or a painting on the wall - alive and distant. 
In that world, people walk lonelier, 
move mouths without sound, 
follow the day without time, 
rhythm without music. 
From behind the window I observe the pattern of living, 
colossal before the window lens:
a microscope, 
a world inside the tv screen.
Life out there... (or inside) 
keeps turning as it does, in its whirling way, 
day 
after 
day, 
with coffee cups and newspapers, 
laughter, fears, and doubts.
And I sit and stare, 
-almost noon inside my head-
savoring the seconds until I, too, become

a number. 

Greyhound

Yellow and red splash the bald trees
of the American road. 

Wheat fields glow golden,
warming in spring sun.

The sky sails across oceans
of infinite depths, naked as freedom.

Clouds melt among Sun's swords
like lovers' legs between sheets.

The city,
I lost to the miles behind

I move on
among fraternities
of gliding machines,
carried by wheels
of bottomless time,
rolling through an expanse
of orphan territory,
belonging to no one,
and everything at once,
ascending into the garden
of futures unclaimed. 

Mother Mountain traces the horizon
with her bosom.
The falcon floats the wind,

stretching its wings,

like saluting flags.

The river shivers sunbeam, 

like diamonds dancing the night, 

resting upwards eternally

to heavens eclipsing her sight. 

The multitude,

I lost to the hours behind.

I move on, 

a traveler,

as singular
as the American road, 

plummeting like rain

into a world alive. 

-LBCH