Something was lost 

in the peppered night air.
Trees bloomed sweetly secret.

Lovers inspiration, 

Poetry written from heart aflame. 

Nothing more, nothing less, 

It is but glass and not living. 

You Don't Understand

As much as it frustrates me when people say "You wouldn't understand", or "you couldn't/can't understand", or even "They can't understand", I understand I'll have to come to terms with this truth sooner or later.
I really believe in the power and beauty of empathy, an ability to understand other people's feelings and viewpoints.
However, empathy can only go so far, and really, it is still hard to truly understand another person's experience if you haven't had that or a similar experience.
My main problem with "You can't understand" is it tends to be a device to push people away and alienate them. It's a way to separate yourself from someone who could benefit from understanding you, or who could benefit you in their understanding, however shallow that understanding could be.
"You can't understand" tends to be a way to get out of explaining yourself or your feelings. I understand that sometimes this is just because a person doesn't want to attempt to explain themselves to another person.
I am attempting to reconcile myself to the fact that sometimes I cannot understand another person's experience or feelings, this is due to things out of my control, and this is okay.

An open door in answer

I thought to send out a message,
A digital prayer for company
while I waited for my gardening class.
But a voice inside quietly spoke up,
and I gave myself up, whole, to chance.
I slung my heavy bag on my shoulder
and walked down the hallway,
I asked a question with no form,
and it was readily absorbed into the pattern all around,
the threads and weave of that particular day
In that very building lit with a fire to the gods of
creativity; physical, written or worded.
My question condensed into you,
an open door in answer.

Chance Meeting

Walking that grey, winding hallway,
I was following unseen,
Only felt
Threads blindly.
I trusted to the pattern
All around me.
I asked a question;
It had no body,

But its form dissolved,
Was taken up into my surrounding
and condensed into you;
an open door in answer

I missed supernova

Wide Eyes and a Tender Heart

Idealistic little college student:
Some days are good,
Others are like black holes of time and energy,
All the world hard and jagged,
No desire to interact with other human-persuaded beings.

Pause, redirect-

Now is not the time to dwell on that half of life,
We are happy, and
we mean to speak about the days
that go better than ever expected;
Filled with inspiration,
We feel like God, themself, is leading us by the heart and hand
And all of the world is deserving of our love
and reverence.
On these days, the world is moment-by-moment created for us...
And we understand;
Are somehow understood by all people.
These are the days we meet extraordinary souls,
sometimes only into hour-long-deep conversation mates
and sometimes those extraordinary souls grow into
Life long friends.

This day of Facebook allows you to
Hold onto the strings of possibility,
Whether or not if they hold fast and strong;
More time for them to mature;
the potential to braid our lives together extended.
More often than not, they dissolve,
and we are left with the memory of ties.

We suppose friendship is more than one person pursuing another,
but both running to meet somewhere in the middle.
How does it work?- We found ourselves asking, waiting, watching
All last year.
Still no answers, but butterfly-bright flashes of inspiration all the time.
Still no answers, still waiting and watching,
Eyes wide open and a tender heart.

How can a person only know another person for a week, and feel like they've known them for years?
What is the probability of this happening more than once?
Probably more probable than you might think...

Lost hours of practice

Tripping all over the guitar strings,
notes ringing out in disharmony.

Halting and hesitant,
Dip you toe carefully in and then tumble into the water,
After all, what is life without imperfection,
What is life without enthusiasm?
What is life without trying? 

theory of relativity

The things around me that
I cannot immediately see
exist almost entirely,
merely in my head.

The surrounding world,
The universe,
and how these things work.

Winter Morning (A transcript for a Public Speaking Assignment)

I would like to describe a morning spent at the house I watched with my sister last week. The house is studded all around with large windows, allowing an excellent view in all four directions.

Wintery Eastern Mountains slowly lighten from the dark blue of dawn. This is where the horizon is first touched with color, going from deep black to light blue over the course of the morning.

The early light brushes the white top of Mt. Nebo with soft pink, and then tints the deserty West Mountains a dark saffron from top to bottom, going on to illuminate the towns, hills, and ponds below.

Finally, the light slowly creeps across the valley. It’s almost imperceptible when it reaches this house. First the juniper hill at the Western fence line is illuminated, then the closely shorn hayfield, and suddenly there is no line of light, no shadow of the mountain to block out the sun.

After the sun has risen over the mountains ringing this valley, everything is bathed in light, and most people are already going about their short day in this warm winter.