the stream

when I sit by the stream I don’t wonder what i’ve done to deserve it’s trickle

birds

what bitter truth for baby birds that no one can learn to fly for them

how tempting it is to blame others for the loneliness of life

the degree to which I am able to grieve

in the same way

does the germinating seed resent the surface?

sometimes I fear I’ll never learn how to truly handle the joy

don't you see: there's enough alienation in the world as is - we don't need yours too

me, myself, and I

what do I feel?