What Happens When I Try

The music comes out sad,
no matter how happy
I try to make it.
All my virtuosity goes
out the window when
I am bent,
fingers to the strings.

The pulse is slow
and the harmonies,
building to crescendo,

The words are happy
and hopeful,
no matter the darkness
I try to throw in,
the complex emotions
and enthralling stories
I try to follow are all
dead ends
as my fingers bend
to the keys.

It’s never what I hope for,
it’s never what I have planned,
but for each way,
there is a voice,
there is a truth.
There is truth that
I can’t plan.
It just happens.


Genesis, Part 1: Creation And Division

In the countless depths of teeming
where lay the substance of dark
before the hours of dawn’s breaking,
there moved the expanse of Soul,
the Spirit from which all was sprung,
upon the darkness of writhing chaos,
and in that state of primeval dwelling,
the chaos below, the Spirit above,
the chord was struck for the
as the Spirit moved upon the darkness,
those depths that swirl in cyclic abyss,
and Spirit, formless, and chaos, never
dwelt together to balance in form
the non-division of all creation.
And so was formed from the marriage
of abyssmal swirling and expansive
the meeting ground of solid foundation,
the firmament above the below, below
     the above,
the place of dwelling and of creation,
where dwelt the children of swirling and
And it came to be, where the children
that unequal measure of substance
     was formed
and division came to the solid
of expanse and swirling, and creation
     was split.
Between mother and father, division
     was struck
and to the children, in each of them,
in each child, each one to his kind,
there was given unequal measure
of the flight of expanse or swirl of
And from this division upon firm
that which was solid was torn asunder.
And then there arose in this divided
the want for keeping each to their own.
The tribes of the children of expanse
     and abyss
were remade in the likeness of the
     measure taken
by each of the children, from mother or
and the children drew nearer to those
     of their kind,
those of like measure, and the division
     was sealed.


When I look at myself,
I see despair and hope
endlessly intermingled.
A hope that only comes
from great despair.

I look at the world
and do not always
see beauty,
but I accept the ugliness
I see.

When it rains, I do not
yearn for sunshine.
I let the rain fall
on my face and soak
into every pore.

When the sun is shining,
I wish not for rain,
but let the rays
brown my skin.

There is no singularity
greater than knowing
each paradox,
every opposing force,
all discontinuity,
and accepting it
as the Whole.

I am not one thing.
I am many things.
And by that,
I am whole.

No Words

The feeling is there,
but the words just won’t come.

I can’t describe
how I’m feeling
because words can’t
describe it.

Defining something
is to isolate it.
But when you can’t
define something,

you feel isolated.

I’m looking for the right words,
but they’re not there.
There are no words for this.

There needs to be no words for this.

This needs no words.