This is it, I thought.

This is what I drove like a madman to see.

Driving here, losing my mind about seeing this, the sunrise, because I actually managed to stay up all night in anticipation and with insomnia.

To arrive here and find I have no words.

No words to describe how the pink met the pure blue of the water.  No phrases to describe how it fades to a peach as the sun slowly creeps up the trellis of the sky.

Nothing to capture how the greenery is hung at the bend, obscuring the physical sun, so all I glimpse is the dusky hue in which it paints the morning.

What can I say which would allow you to hear the slaps and the glugs of the waves knocking against the rocks?

It’s not windy, nor are they angry.

Yet there is a fierceness to them which says,

I am alive, and I will be heard.

How many geese are there and how do they float along?

And how does the white goose feel amongst the Canadian?

There is no crashing in the waves thought they smack the rocky shore.

There is no urgency to the geese’s morning swim though they bob up and down upon the water.

Oh, to float there and feel at peace.

How can I express the hope one feels in driving into a sunrise.

There is no day I would trade that for driving into a sunset.

To feel that the dawn is here, and you have witnessed the very birth of a new day.

You have its entirety to fulfill your own.

What wondrous view could amuse the senses without blinding you as does the sunset with its close and its heavy shadows hovering over your latest regrets.

No.  This sun is new and fresh, though it’s shone a thousand times before.

How is it the trees manage to glow their own lights when the sun’s rays touch their leaves?

Shall I tell you that everything sparkles?

This clear crisp air is the breath that I’ve been searching for all the night.

a love book poem

With every page I turned and

every word I devoured

I wanted more

And quickly threw myself into

A whirlwind of writing

Which could never drown me

Or slit my wrists or slay me,

But strengthen me

Until I fell asleep on the

Thickened pages

Having absorbed what I

In turn

Poured into them.

Writer’s Block

It seems that I haven’t picked up the pen, or touched my keyboard, in what feels like forever.

I must make time for myself, to do the things I love. I must find the energy to create.

I must destroy this block from my mind. Work aside, exhaustion aside, love joy laughter & misery aside, I must work to bring forth the things from my mind.

I must work against the heated fog, the sultry breeze of self-possession, selfishness, and petty arguments of soul rivaling mind.

To thrust away the dense brush and undergrowth that barricades the hard-to-find trail in the woods of creativity and inner thoughts.

To muster the strength to continue onward amongst the din of pollution and wicked life that threatens my very existence.

For such things must everyone face.  While not everyone sees this, and yet I do, I must let that drive me forward and not stall me.

Such is.