i am

"Who could be so lucky? Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of the moon." Rumi



He caressed my mind
Just as my heart began to open.
Like a thief jn the night
He cleverly awoke me with his declarations,
Snuck deep into dark wounds
Despite his limitations –
These lesions slowly dissipate into haze.
But with not a single gaze,
How’d he know to get in?

Penetrating my thoughts,
He’s become a pro at deciphering
The moods my soul swings to;
And as my heart he pursues,
He causes a fluttering that knows no harm.
Unarmed, I give in gradually
But hesitantly.
Should I? Should I not?
Why not?

Reasoning with a lack of reasons,
A case I’m unable to state
For the places I’ve been
Compare not to the places he’s seen
Through dreams which enchant a morrow
He knows will ensue pleasure and ease.
His love has instantly become immeasurable
As he unravels a knot that choked
Me for far too long with a memoir
That would otherwise have no end.

There’s a sunrise in his lingo
And a misty coolness that oozes
Its way into my core –
I wonder if this sensation
Will whistle past the graveyard.
Mmm, raindrops taste like sweet persimmons
Every time the thought of him lingers in my senses-
Delicate and subtle;
But I anticipate encountering in the physical
For it shall confirm what my visions
Have alluded to as I patiently wait.
Ah, to anticipate forever through a single soul.



So It Was

A couple calendars have passed, 

And I ask all that IS 

If more seasons will evolve before 

The hour of encounter. 

Stars trickle at midnight 

Through the farthest spaces between 

All that once seemed eternal.

Journaling dreams, voicing a future

And attempting to alter a destiny 

Has  become hopelessly useless.

What’s undone can be done not again

Finger prints wiped, 

Leaving behind only a smudge. 

I indulge in caramel-coated

Memoirs as my eyes gaze into

 A jammed hour glass

As time declines passing.

But so it was… ♠



My dreams and visions are never far off from my own reality. Often in short clips or twisted imagery, they portray my own current or future situations as well as those close to me.

In learning to decipher my own dreams, I am learning a lot about myself as I accept this gift that God has granted me. This gift laid heavy on my shoulders from time to time because I didn’t overstand  the responsibility that came attached with it. It can become scary when dreams portray a sense of purpose for my life, a mission that needs be carried out, but I can no longer keep denying this calling.

It’s something I have to face. It isn’t going to disappear for I have been chosen, as many of us are with our different gifts, to take action. Without going into detail about what those actions are, I overstand the work that lays before me.

I write today to tell you that I will become a reflection of the change that needs to and will take place on Earth. I don’t know details, but I am certain of this: my time has come. Slowly but surely, I have developed the skills to begin this journey. And I will continue to sharpen these skills and learn new ways of achieving my highest purpose in this life. I have encountered and reconnected with like-minded souls that share my same goal but with a different calling at hand.

What awaits me (us) may be a lonely road filled with unimaginable obstacles and circumstances, but nonetheless, with adequate preparation, I am in for the ride, in for change, in for the beginning of forever.


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Lights, Camera, Puppets!

I awoke behind the scenes
Of what seems to be impossible.
Theater curtains
Come to a stop midway.
It isn’t time yet, is it?

I know nothing,
Yet I know the plot will unfold-
It thickens not, not yet.

In the drama that is life
There are characters who only memorize lines
-Cameras roll.
-Mics hang.
-Ropes pull.

The director knows my name –
Witnessed my peak.
He knows me.

He wants me to be in the play.
Acting? It isn’t my forte.
A spectator, ah, perhaps more fitting
For now because now isn’t for me

Symmetrically between
Left and right,
Front and back,
I sit.
The corn has popped,
I eat.
My feet hang over the back of a chair in front.

The dialogue is weak.
A slow monotonous death supersedes
The first five takes of life,
Physically, anyway.

But I’m now asleep.
My body, that is.
And I shall play.
A major part of history will be unveiled
Through the lens of dreams,
Not stages.
Phases of broken legs
And luck for the good
Will be but momentary.

I dream.

I am.

I know nothing yet.
But I know that much.

Photo credit: Freakingnews.com


My Closest Comfort

Sleep is my closest comfort.

A comforter, white like snow-

Stuffed in a dark satin duvet,

Drapes over my forsaken skin.

My head, propped in the middle

Of my favorite pillow,

Is cased in satin, with a lavender mist.

Sigh… It soothes my soul.

Tranquility at my fingertips.

As the A.C. turns, tightly I hold on,

Squeezing as I’m held in a snug position

By no one…by no one but my comforter.


Sleep is my closest comfort.

My energy is replenished

And my blemishes unseen-

My tomorrow foreseen in dreams,

Witnessing my sorrows.

Guessing games come to a halt,

Hunger becomes repressed,

Loneliness nonexistent

With desires fully expressed.

Events were yesterday’s worries;

But tonight as my comforter caresses

My limbs and core, I fall into deep sleep.

Artist: Nikolai Kuznetsov

Sleep is my closest comfort,

Where the solar of my plexus is safe

 As I embrace my own shoulders

And interlace my fingers tightly.

To be held… I yearn to be held.

At night only the silky fabric of satin

Twines together with my legs.

My bed feels my weight as I sigh,

As I scream into my pillow,

Flooding it with cries

Before my lids shut.


Sleep is my closest comfort.

Remaining silently throughout-

Watching, hearing, enjoying me

As I travel in between each crevice

And every corner of my mind.

My sleep is precious,

Offering me a lifetime of dreams

In a fraction of a day.

All my thoughts are welcomed,

And troubles put on pause –

My flaws are no more

for a higher self is born.