Where The Wind Goes

I could tell you stories, about the things we do not know.
Like where does the wind go, whenever it blows?--
And sways like breath, against the walls of my chest--
To remind me of its' presence,
Wonder where will it go next?

From where does it come?
From who does it run?
Like my thoughts, that trip over each other
In a hurry.
You best stay still, following their lead, leaves our vision blurry.

Why is it, that the sun sits ever so high?
And as we wander in pain,
Lift our heads towards the sky?
Perhaps to remind us, we are never alone.
And that the lonely house in which we've come to know,
Is just a temporary home.

"One day," says the sun, "you will know where the wind blows;
one day you will be set free, to go as the wind goes."

I Know You Truly Want What We Have

I pray we do not fall from grace

Searching in hope

Of finding our place—

In this wondrous world

Made of wonders.

For peace sake

Do not lose your soul in the sweepstakes.

Do not lose yourself

To the self-hate

They propagate,

Through the big screens.

My stomach aches

And my bones break—

Beneath my skin,

In fear of the news the morning might bring.

I say a prayer

To never turn out like them,

For they have lost their souls,

They are dead

Inside

And cannot feel.

Misery forever their only company.

For every bullet, for every life

We shall rise again a thousand more times.

They try to kill us, boy do they really try

But we are the children of the Sun—

We never truly die.

We are the essence of life,

Here to teach you a lesson,

If you are willing to try

And learn.

Are you willing to learn?

I am no longer asking you,

To return what has always been mine,

For I understand that you cannot give me freedom

If you aren’t free inside,

And a prisoner to your own mind.

In all honesty, honestly

I know you truly want what we have,

And I suggest you go and learn to love yourself,

YOU can always start with that.

I am

I am the space between the lines,

And around the circle.

The thought that lingers,

On the outskirts of your mind.

The love you have dreamed of,

But have not dare to find.

I am the voice in the cold—

That probes at your feet,

When you walk the lonely road.

Where answers find you without question.

Your voice of reason,

Amidst the changing seasons.

I am the light that crawls through

The cracks in your window,

And caresses your face.

A wave moving in time, through space—

That tickles you to a sway.

I am that which you truly hope to find,

But have never given thought.

The force behind your will.

The rhythm of your heart.

I am that which you cannot see,

If you insist on searching with your eyes.

I am The feeling of truth,

That lives beneath it all.

Way down.
Deep.

Inside. 

              -Lesia Forde.

Moment Lost

Overcome Your Boredom: An Ode to Professor Bruinius of Journalism Literature Class. I Thank You.

I remember it like it was yesterday

And to tell the truth

 Usually I don't remember much.

For every moment is already a memory

And you never realize you're making memories

When you're making memories,

But those memories are the masters of

Molding meaning into life.

I remember how much I hated the class hours,

And how I couldn't fathom surviving A week of classes.

I remember being blown away by

Professor Bruinius’ passion,

The first week of classes.

I remember how it motivated my efforts;

Always feeling the need to

Ensure my work was up to par.

I will remember all the time travel we did:

Diving in-and-out of stories,

Living through the voices of those who came and left.

I will remember the unutterable resonance of

‘The Case for Reparations’, ‘Coyotes’ and ‘In Cold Blood’.

I will remember how ‘In Cold Blood’ made my Blood run cold.

I will remember it even when the pages have browned, and the illusion of time, tries to convince me that I've gotten old.

I will remember the rule of thirds,

Not to over dramatize when dealing with a heavy subject,

and to always read my work out loud.

When it feels like there isn't much to be sure of

I will be sure to remember that one thing

Was always for sure:

The Tangents,

The pleasing smile on his face that

accompanied the profoundness in his voice.

I enjoyed each of those moments,

I will remember it all.

And of all the things you've given me to remember,

What I will remember the most is this:

A pleasing pause,

A gentle ease onto the front of his desk,

The anticipation in the silence

As he took his glasses off,

The ticking of the clock that taught us patience

As we waited.

He looks down, and then up, and then out at us.

“OVERCOME YOUR BOREDOM”

Rode on the wave of a very serene smile.

There's another pause, but I tuck his words away

Not Worrying of the passing time.

I remember it like it was yesterday

And to tell the truth, usually I don't remember much,

But the greatest lessons often lie in things

That hands only would have dreamt to touch.

Soundwalk: 'What I Hear'

There is a serene symphony in the complexity of sounds.

I admire how the many layers are organically tailored,

Each possessing a character all on its own.

They aren't looking for each other,

However they come together, they just happen to flow.

In the foreground, the sound of rustling leaves,

Tripping over themselves, as they hurry by my feet.

In a haste perhaps, to catch up to the whistling wind that never stays,

But tugs at things as it makes its way.

Trees get to dancing, and I listen on, as they sway, sway, sway.

Moving vehicles against the wet asphalt, like waves crashing against the sand.

They often come as fast as they go,

And yet, and still, it’s not quite always so.

The squeaking sound of bicycle brakes, grew softer—the closer it came.

As the loud tooting of horns took over, ricocheting through my ear.

Not to be disheartened, birds are friends too, kind enough to save the day.

With their highly anticipated high-pitched tunes,

That gives the most pleasant and peaceful serenade.

The sound mark that stood out in the Brookville Park,

Is the ear-splitting hum of airplanes taking-off, landing and flying overhead.

Its loudness and close proximity, can be intimidating and can leave you overwhelmed.

Still, there is a loud silence, that hangs in the background.

Not waiting on anything, because it holds everything,

Because it is home.

I Remember That Day

Letter To a Friend: You Are The Ocean

Life is like the ocean

Some days you'll find yourself just below the surface

Watching as the sunlight amuses itself atop the waves

And then there're days you'll find yourself

At the darkest end

Swimming between rocks

As you continue to make your way

Some days you'll be the predator

Some days you'll end up the prey

The tides will dance high and low

But you continue to find your way

There are days the current will seem so strong

Almost as though it's driving you out

But the only way out is to go in

To a place of endless light and love

There are days you'll feel so distant 

From all that you see around

But if you're still and quiet enough

A new treasure is to be found

You are an extension of all that is

All that is an extension of you

You are the wave

You are the ocean

You are life within the blue.

When we feel

Planked blankly in perfect vespertide

A body aloof its time

Desperate hands ached to embrace & nurture, a nebula of lies.

What can't be held in hands,

Is it safe to be cradled in mind?

When gut affirms in bellows, what's hidden amidst its walls

Do we continue our quest, or do we comply?

When we feel, should we reveal or should we hide?

These cogent sensualities, I can't reckon they're for keeps,

They aren't safe with you, neither are they safe with me.

Soliloquies are the crutches on which i heavily rely,

To steer psyche's trajectory,

To give me peace of mind.

Heavily,

They bury me,

Come and take what's yours.

I might mess around and kill them,

If they don't kill me first.

Define a Space

Life Is Crazy

                                                                                      Life is crazy:

It is a whirlwind of possibilities

Unfolding in the natural order of chaos;

that is its beauty,

that is the suffering.

Life is energy expressing itself

Life is a story you choose to tell yourself

Life is everything

Life is nothing

Life is anything you want it to be

Life is you

Life is me.

Life is the exact moment you hold a baby's smile with your eyes,

The flap of a butterfly's wings,

Falling sun rays like snowflakes

Playing hide-and-go-seek between dancing leaves.

Life is all that lies ahead of us

Behind us

and in-between.

Life is all you see behind a blink

None of this

But all that you choose to believe;

Life is anything you want it to be

Life is anything YOU want it to be.

The Things She Carried

She carried a pocket knife and a smile, a pointless pencil, a pretty white lie

Half of a page from the King James Bible—reading commandments 6 through 10

She carried guilt, relief, she carried the Buddha’s zen

A hint of shame, an ounce of pleasure that she had gain

Hate for love, love for pain

A crooked smile, a heart with a frown

A Barble dove, an inner queen without a crown

A lighter with no gas, a secret for the pope,

A box of cigarettes that she uses to cope

A pensive sigh, passion for notes on a staff

She carried love, The Alchemist, life and a counterfeit laugh.

The Feel

It’s just the feel:

We’ve been carrying each other around, for as long as memory chooses to reveal.

Looking out at all of life, from behind wandering eyes,

Longing to run away in the sky.

Singing and writing

Is what sets my spirit free,

To discover all that I am, and was meant to be.

It is my home, where I’m free to roam,

An empty canvas, for me to paint.

A never ending rabbit hole,

I just keep finding myself along the way.

A place of work, worship and play,

We’ve been carrying each other about the day.

There’s always creative influences,

For there is much to be felt and seen.

Being present in the now & open to what lies ahead of me.

It is not all that I am, instead it shows me all that I can be,

And even more empowering when I share it with those who share the world with me.

It really is about the feel.

And all the truth that it reveals.

I no longer look-on-out with wandering eyes,

But I am still, and ready to go inside.

A world where words wrestle to explain.

There’s nothing there,

But there’s everything to be gained.

I will keep singing and writing

After all, it is an extension of me.

I am an extension of life,

I am anything I imagine myself to be.

I am creature of creation

I will keep on creating, as I feel.

I will keep on sharing it with the world,

That is looking in at me.