CPoetry

there are friends who comfort us during the thunderstorm. but then there are friends who comfort us during the thunderstorm--- and shelter us from the rain and cover our ears from the noise and ask us if we are ok after the storm passes. cherish those friends who both experience the thunderstorm and wait until the sky returns to peace. a thunderstorm stands no chance against a lighting-love that strikes before  thunder welds a single decibel. ::: when we convince ourselves we cannot overcome the pains of our past, it is as if we are bees who have punctured ourselves with our own stinging-needle. lying on our backs and crushing our wings, there is a field that is not being pollinated. flowers are starving. their nectar is growing sour. in the midst of our pain, we attempt to fly into water, into a soda can, into anything to help us heal. supposedly, there was such a bee who stung herself so badly she could not even fly from the hiv

the most despondent countenance of Autumn belongs to the green leaf; it mourns its living while it attends the annual celebration of others' death and                                 moving on . ::: black tar and sour honey bind our hearts to a gavel; the viscous hold of what we know as opposed to what we can know maintains a compartmental view of an evergreen tree; some needles are seen as less than everlasting, and some branches dam water here and let it run there. even though it is the fullness of this tree that provides shelter for birds and privacy for our perceived separateness, we bang our gavels against the trunk. and bang them. and bang them. and BANG them, trying to quake free whom does not belong shouting, "this piece of eternity cannot live among the eternal!" ::: during the moment of Creation, God slung a white thread and divided, between infinity, Heaven and Earth.