push and pull

One side pushed, the other pulled.

Like waves, they danced.

Without one, the other could not exist.

A tide set to its own rhythm.

In perfect balance, the water sparkled on moonlit shores.

A storm brewed in the distance.

Where one saw chaos, another saw calm.


Support this blog and help me fly

Another title with no words. "Push and Pull" Nothing more than an idea, now fully brought to life. Initially meant to be a full fledged article, now a poem. Why? It's a complicated idea best told in simplicity. I also thought it would be the perfect experiment. This poem can be read top down and bottom up all the while still making sense and slightly shifting the perspective. A fun idea extremely difficult to execute.

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Thanks for reading; love all the support I’ve been getting the last few weeks! As always, feel free to comment below as I love reading your comments and hearing your feedback!

Old Home

There was a house on a hill, quiet and old.

The floors creaked as you stepped and the windows let in what light they could afford.

The dust had long since settled, undisturbed for many a year.

Until he entered.

Long forgotten, he ran his fingers through the dust, leaving a long, thin, line across cabinets that had long past served a meal.

He picked up an old photograph and gently blew; the picture faded and no longer recognizable.



Another Post from the Archive

A majority of my posts are nothing more than a title, an idea. Some are fully fleshed out, others are not. They sit, collecting dust and I suppose they have been on my mind as I find comfort in going through each post and finishing what I started or creating something entirely new from what I had. This poem was nothing more than a title and it has become so much more.

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Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!

One-Way

Perhaps it’s time that I talk about something long buried, that I’ve hidden from the world in the hope that over time, it would vanish.

That I am afraid. Our lives have defining moments where we are left with two options; do we climb or do we fall?

Each decision a branch on our tree, creating endless ripples of what could of been and what will never be.

 I move forward and at the same time I stay exactly where I was, unmoving. I watch as the branch next to me crumbles and cling to my branch for dear life.

The wind begins to pick up and I pray that the branch chosen is strong enough to withstand any storm and should it begin to crack, I find the courage to keep climbing. That I will one day touch the sunlit canopy, and look back to see the branches I chose still standing strong; reaching their hands to catch me should I fall. And should I have stood upon a branch filled with rot, to have the knowledge to nourish the branch till leaves begin to sprout and the strength to severe the limb should the rot spread. 

Should I reach the top, I hope to see the forest and look far beyond the canopy of green that lays before me. To look at the thick roots down below; an intricate network of connections that keeps the forest alive. For if one tree suffers, the whole forest begins to die. And it is true that the strong nourish the weak but it is also true that the weak nourish the strong. And should the forest burn, from the ashes life begins anew.


Content from the Grave

When I found this draft, all it had was the title and the first line. So I expanded. This post was always meant to be a reflection of life and I wanted the words to be up to the reader to interpret. What is the forest? What do the branches represent? Is this referring to the individual or the group? Both?

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Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! Thoughts? Comments? Sound off below and I’ll do my best to respond.

The nightmares we believe

When we are children, we are afraid of the dark. We seek a candle to light us to bed. And still we dream of monsters. The battle between light and dark is constant. For without light, life cannot exist. The darkness twists and distorts, creating illusions and playing tricks on the mind. People spend most of their lives running and they forget the very reason they start running in the first place. It is only when the path forward is blocked that they have time to stop and catch their breath. And what do they see when they turn around? The creeping darkness.

So what is the darkness and what makes it so terrifying? Therein lies the  problem. The darkness is many things at once; regret, sorrow, guilt, anger, jealousy, rage. It is every secret kept, every opportunity not taken, and the time that you can’t get back. It is death incarnate, always chasing and never slowing, only wearing. And at the same time… It is nothing at all. We shine a light through the darkness and see nothing. No monsters and what we thought would be there, isn’t.

And yet we are afraid. It is only when we see the sun peak over rolling hills do we realize that forever long the night seems, the sun always rises.

Personally, I find comfort in the darkness; its shadow like a blanket. Perhaps not so much the darkness but rather the light that shines through. Some nights you may get a rolling breeze, and the soft glow of moonlight, which can be both mesmerizing and somewhat unsettling. The breeze can easily turn into a howling and the light can slowly recede, leaving only darkness. And yet, when we open our eyes, we realize morning has already come.


The Don’t let Mike Starve fund

This post, fun fact, has been sitting in my drafts since July of 2017. It felt incomplete and I had always meant to add more. So come today, I reread the post and have found it to be one of my better pieces and what was missing, was found. The only change I have made since then and now is the final line, "And yet, when we open our eyes, we realize morning has already come." I hope you enjoy this piece and am glad I finally get to share it with the world.

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