The Blue, Blue Sky

When the sky is blue,

Our fears are lost

In a sea of endless



By the clouds

Soft and puffy,

Heavy and dominating,

The moments of our lives

That float by,

Or come in a sudden squall…


And crackling,

Thundering across the

Great blue—

Anger burns

Deep within,

Sadness drills

A hole below

To where the darkness lurks

Waiting for that chance

To pull through

And steal away the blue,

Blue sky.

But always there is that

Endless blue


Of what the dark

Can bring.

Because it is always waiting,

In the form of a smile,

Open arms,

And gently floating clouds,

Waiting to come back.

Waiting to watch us

From above,

And be there,

With the sun shining

When our worries have faded

Even if

Only temporarily—

We are not alone

Under the blue,

Blue sky,

Just close your eyes,

Because happiness is waiting.

Voices of Yesterday

Yesterday, we were angry.

Yesterday, we cried for a future we couldn’t see.

Yesterday, we were dreaming,

About a golden apple

Sitting in the palm of our hand

Glimmeringly bright

Blindingly so

With patches here and there,

Of the world.

Yesterday, we were thinking of taking a bite.

Yesterday, we were tall with pride.

Yesterday we were smiling,

About the happiness we hold,

That can hardly be contained

By our small hands


Bit by bit…

Yesterday we had a dream so big.

Yesterday we were unafraid of chasing it.

Yesterday we were loving—loved.

But today is another day

To trudge along

Through the daily grind

Thinking about yesterday…

And all the things

We had nearly done

If the world hadn’t conspired

To be forgivably cruel.

Tomorrow, we will do as always.

Tomorrow, we will feel that spark again.

Tomorrow, we will dream once more,

Of the voices of yesterday,

And we will find what we have lost,

In the time that takes us by

Without us knowing

As we see more clearly

And less of the rose

That protected our childhood innocence…

Yesterday gave us today,

Today is just a day,

Tomorrow let us look

Once more

For those voices of yesterday.

Dark Inside; Something So Dark.

How do we stand up

in the face of despair?

To fight against the

Storm, the hanging cloud

Over heads?

How do we look beyond

What stares at us in the face?

It seems impossible.

It is impossible.

It can’t be possible.

It drowns us through

And through

Washes us over

And over,

It clings to us,

Taking over our minds

Dipping us deeper

In the dark recesses

Of our greatest fears.

It may not bring tears

To the eyes,

But it is the same…

Unending sadness,

Weighted hopelessness

Unrestrained fearfulness,

That though we fight

May not fight

Wish to defeat,

There is a light


Just waiting for that moment

That time to shine

Down on us below

Deep in that dark cavern,

We all hope

To find the happiness

That will take away this

Endless sadness,

But we all know

Only some of us…

But still we must try…

For why should we let

Something so dark

Decide our fate?

Blue Sky.

2013-12-20 12.30.04

Source: myself


There’s a sky that’s blue,

With wisps of white clouds.

It’s so wide and expanding,

One twist of our heads,

Can’t embrace it all.

It is our sky,

Our ceiling,

Our constant,

Even under storm clouds,

It’s always there,

That blue, blue,

Ever blue sky.

The Rainmaker.

The rainmaker is a man,

Dressed in robes and mystic clothes.

He casts his hands up into the sky,

And calls upon the storms and tides,

Drawing them with his standing presence,




The rainmaker is a woman,

Dressed in simple clothes,

And bare feet,

Covered in mud,

From dancing under the open sky,

Singing the songs of love, hope,

And all things nature,

She is wild,


Like heaven on earth.

The rainmaker is a child,

Dressed in winter clothes,

Wrapped in the warmth of the snow,

Pale as the sunless child,

Looking out the window,

Making silent wishes,

Of a life unknown,




The rainmaker is the one,

Dressed as they like,





Hoping for a day of rain.

Raining Gold.

The sky is overcast,

With the grey shadows of the winter,

Blessing the land,

With the gift of life,

Flowing with liquid,

Rich, clean, clear and blue.

The rain passes with a thunder

And a roar,

Quaking the land,

And shaking little tails

Poking out from small, unseen,

Little hideaways

Leaving behind its darkness,

Sheltering the land.

The heavy liquid,

Flattens the land,

Mowing it down,

As it rests,

And bathes,

In the storm of the day.

Then it sparkles,

Little twinkling shines of light,

Blink, left and right,




As the evening sun sets.

Its light pours over the storm,

Like and overflow of genius,

Tucked under fear.

It explodes,

In the evening,

Across the clearing sky,

Raining gold,

Painting the land,

No—bathing it,

In yellow, dying it,

This shade of tomorrow.

What is this feeling?

Of utter bliss?

Of amazement?

Of a yellow coloured world?

What is it that I’m seeing?

The sky is raining gold

Life, sunshine and hope.

The Constellations of Tomorrow.

We like to dream of the impossible,

Search for the wilderness that we know exists,

Find our deepest regrets buried at the bottom,

And bury them in a grave of life at its best.

I see the future written in the stars,

In the constellations of tomorrow,

That remain for a lifetime,


Even though,

They are a million light years away,

Changing before our eyes,

Even though we can’t yet see,

The future that it brings.

I look for tomorrow,

In a pool of water,

In the middle of a forest,

I’ve never been before,

Like a princess,

Waiting for a prince,

Making a wish,

For something better

Than what I have.

But there’s something beautiful,

In the present day,

And present life,

Moving forward and looking ahead,

Exchanging promises and vows,

And gifts for the future.

I see the past set in stone,

And ponder on the darkness in my heart.

It sets like mud,

Sludge, thick and inescapable.

It clings to me,


A reminder of what I have done,

And lost.

But the constellations in the sky,

Of Orion,

Of the Pot,

Of the Southern Cross.

They burn brightly,

Shining hotly,

In the midnight white darkness,

Giving us a light,

Accompanying the moon,

And all her glory,

I see my future,

Maybe not brightly,

But the hope is there,

In the Constellations of Tomorrow.

Quote #71

Emily DickinsonFrom Emily Dickinson…

“Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul 
And sings the tune without the words 
And never stops at all.”


Rainbow Colorado

The rain dripped down her back gluing her shirt to her skin.  She was tired.  Her heart was sore, and her head was spinning.  All she wanted to do was lie down and let despair of failure wash over her.  But as she splashed down the rain-washed road, she saw something beautiful.   It was hope.


We climbed to the top of the tower and looked at the panorama spreading around us.  His hand rest next to mine.  I felt my heart beat just a bit faster.  He asked me because he knew I wasn’t a coward.  If only that wasn’t the only reason.  “You’re wrong,” he said taking my hand.