Paris

The smell of fresh baked bread A carved wooden chair The morning sun in bed Mixed notes in the air   This canvas of paint here A tower so tall Town of beauty and fear Stories make me feel small

Veritas

Truth is breaking through the canopy; It is oxygen to my soul. Though I did not know I was suffocating, There was a gag over my countenance. When it was torn off, I learned what it means to breathe. Now I live with full lungs, And appreciate each rise and …

How Often

How often do we live asleep? A staring face with closed eyes. How often do we smile and weep? The air we inhale cries.   How often do we run while tied? A dying muscle forced to fly. How often do we reach too wide? The very earth begs us to …

Digital Souls

Pondering a reputation, Incessantly haunting our minds, A broadcast of hearts clamoring For acceptance, Our worth resting on a shaky symbol. Mysteries are fading away. Desperate to conform to magazines We present our filtered lives. “I don’t care” is the national anthem. But inside, we feel the stab of judgement …