Never Enough Time

Time is a concept; a construct.

Irrelevant and yet still pressing.

We all have a finite amount of time and what we choose to do with it is what defines us.

We all live so differently and yet, somehow the same.

Afraid to die, afraid of time.

Not enough time.

Never enough time.

Not to do the things we really want to.

Instead we are conditioned to do the will of others.

Conditioned to spend our time as slaves.

But there are those that have beguiled their way into better time spent.

Sweet release of the chains and living freely, unashamed and unpressed for time.

I wish to be one, are you?


Stale and Stagnant

Stale and stagnant are those who do nothing,

those who dare not to dream.

Those who desire not to achieve but to wade the waters,

waiting for something to float its way.

Half finished hopes and dreams lay broken at the feet,

all too mendable but will not be.

They are they broken promises,

the same old results.

The same old defeat.

Tomorrow is a new day,

filled with the same stale waters.

Positive Attracts Positive

I read something by another blogger about happiness. A few key points they pointed out were ideas like:

negative attracts negative

positive attracts positive

space from those who are negative is crucial while we focus on those who are more positive-minded

allowing us to stay true to ourselves

being able to express our negativity and finding the positive, because it is there, we just have to find it

I really liked the piece because it hit home for me. I have been in such a dark and crucial point in my life where I feel I’m only now, and very slowly, starting to crawl out of it. I focus too much on the negativity in my life and it seems everything is all wrong at once, when in reality there is an equal list of things going right that are being brushed to the side and forgotten.

It’s a small list, but it is an extremely attainable goal for now.

Do you have anything you’re currently working on? I’d love to know so leave me a comment.


Twilight brushes dusk with it subdued glows. The air is warm and moist from an evening shower. Birds flit and tweet. Crickets chirp and the river roars, unwavering. Serene and peaceful, the world prepares itself for sleep, but not yet an eternal slumber.

How many hours is it?

Days, weeks, months?

The sky will come crashing and Mother Earth will awaken. Crushing and bruising, her path will be painful and destructive.

Beyond repair,

beyond hope,

beyond words.

The birds do not know so, they will continue their dance. The crickets do not know so, they will continue to chirp. The river does not know so, it will continue to roar, unwavering.


How to have hope when everything feels like a spiraling pattern.

Actions repeated until they blend one into the next and then it’s gone.


It’s the new normal. The same hell to bear wrapped in disguise as hopes and dreams.

But it is waiting for you.

For that one small trip-up that sends it all spiraling again.

Up and down, up and down.

Around we go on the grandiose merry-go-round.


There is so much more to being than what we’re led to believe,

But what is it that makes us more?

The cosmos that lives within us? The stardust?

We are atoms set and bound together to create this being, this form. Is it rare?

Not rare,

it can’t be,

but honest.

Honest in that each form is unique in some way, no two completely and irrevocably alike.

That is the more, the cosmos.

We are atoms that make up this inhabitant we use and that is the unique stardust of being.