This Is My Voice. There Are Many

I Sit Before Flowers 
hoping They Will Train Me In The Art 
of Opening Up

My Heart Is A Protest That I Let Rally Against My Ribs.

Someone Once Told Me That The Finer Points Of Devotion Are About The Size Of A Pinhole, And There Are Millions Of Them. And If You Could Connect Each Dot, Then You’ve Got A Diagram Of What You Think You Thought You Knew, And If You’re Willing To Admit That You Know Nothing…you Have The Blueprint For A Breakthrough.

We So Seldom Understand Each Other. But If Understanding Is Neither Here Nor There, And The Universe Is Infinite, Then Understand That No Matter Where We Go We Will Always Be Smack Dab In The Middle Of Nowhere. All We Can Do Is Share Some Piece Of Ourselves, And Hope That It’s Remembered. Hope That We Meant Something To Someone

This Is My Voice. There Are Many Like It, But This One Is Mine.