If you look underneath peace, you hear

the pleas and cries

of the brokenhearted,

the screams

of the tortured

and

…

the silence of the oppressed.

If you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you find pockets

of

reflections.

The top of tomorrow awaits colors I cannot see,

but feel,

lingering just out of reach…

The baby’s cry,

a reluctant orange,

a 3 am bathroom trip,

hovering between

asleep

and

awake,

not knowing what is real.

The turquoise

smooth and ancient

valuable,

bro  ken

but

even prettier

because it

Is.

The hiding place of rain

shivers underneath the tones of a tune

on the edge of my lips

stuck

in

my

throat

a whisper

a

reluctant

messenger.

Mischief…

Tense,

as the air

just

before

a

thunderstorm,

the world charged.

lightning strikes.

At the edge of silver

a blizzard,

light—obscured

walking into the sun,

soaking it up

letting it seep into chilled veins,

tasting it…savoring it

as if,

it’ll never pass me by,

again.