shooting stars

nothing in the sky,

except a path of stars.

specks of dust.

exploding with adventure.

puzzle pieces completing a picture,

a picture worth a million wishes.

Homecoming

It was a long time coming,
That soldier's return.
Back to the structure of his foundation.
The tiny white house on
The edge of the sea.
He grew and matured in this house;
With the shelter of it's angled roof.

The result, a decision,
That our country will honor everyday.

He knew the return;
Would be difficult.
Lung aching;
Heartbreaking.
Hopefully the familiar surroundings;
Will bring him back to a time of peace.

Back to the lighthouse that had been his escape.
Back to the dining room table, covered in lace.

The bristling waves lapping the rocks;
Will welcome his return.
Along with the giddy cries of his;
Beloved children.
The sound will hit his ears;
Like his favorite score of music.
A sound he will capture,
And play whenever he needs a homecoming.

Dreamer

the flutter of heavy eyelids.

deep slumber takes over the weary.

the mind enters a new, divine world.

escape. adventure.

truth hidden behind stories.

reality tears through the walls of the mysterious.

the dreamer is left wondering.

until the next nightfall.

When I Show You My Words.

When I show you my words,
I hope they are little tunnels that,
If you are brave enough to follow,
Will lead you straight to the heart inside me.

The words that I yell, laugh, whisper,
Importantly scibble on an old sticky note,
Come from me and me alone.
They are meant to inspire.

I can bet you anything my words were once
In another form.
Inspiration, that is.

It is sometimes difficult to use that inspiration
In a new, exciting way.
The fear of the words:
"that is so yesterday!"
But, in time, that inspiration will morph
Into brilliance.
Brilliance that you aren't afraid to show off.
Smile big!
Take risks!

Those Certain Rainy Days

Standing on tiptoes, my fingers finally curl around the worn out, delicate spine. 

I pull it down while dust rains from the top shelf.

Plopping on my mother's bed, my legs dangle over the edge.

It's raining outside, and I am lonely.

But I have the comfort of the old photo albums.

That old familiar spine creaks open, as I turn to my favorite page.

My Grandma's dazzling smile and kind eyes instantly brighten my rainy day.

She always knows how to do that.

There I am in her arms, 

At the beach,

Picking raspberries in her garden. 

Memories flood my mind.

Her soft voice tickles my ears.

Suddenly, I am not lonely anymore.

Once I am done, the album gets shoved back on the wooden top shelf.

Waiting.

And bursting with the people and smiles, 

I need on those certain rainy days.