Sayings

When that thing comes alive,

       I find my pen 

gripped by the scruff of the neck;

       tweaze thorns long troublesome.  

Brush layered dirt off my chest - connect dots in the mess.

       Between cut outs of the godless
and flocks of the believers,
       the world of space is rich
for dreamers to wander.

       Contentment is a grace

of abundant little treasures.
       Life's paradox: be grateful; strive for better.

The shadow deep within - outcast - labelled as sin.

       A mine of gems inside

to feed and fuel my vibe.