Monday, April 30, 2012

A Paper Figure

  He is a silent delicate shape stationed at the upper left corner of my desk. He is the lifeless bird that dreams of clouds and gushing winds, yet it is useless. He is a lonely paper bird that guards my desk and observes the handles of the grandfather clock as it clicks eternally forward.
  I wonder if he thinks he is unloved and to make sure he does not swallow that horrible belief I whisper him a name because anything with a name has a purpose and a reason to earn that name. I decided on Johnny, a reminder of that character in a cartoon who carried his only friend--a wooden plank with a marked smile and eyes.
  Johnny must stare at the jays and the Robbins wandering outside the window, envying their soft feathers and round cautious eyes. But he is remarkably beautiful because sharp folds and patterns form his body made of neon orange paper and it seems his silence drowns out any winged friend outside the window. Johnny is not alive, but attest he will never die. At least I can carry him in my pocket to the land beyond my lawn and just maybe, If I feel generous, I'll rest his frail body in my palms, stretch out at arm's length to clouds and gushing wind, and for a slim moment in his endless lifetime let him feel like he can actually fly.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

All About Angels

Angels        are born from laughter, smiles keep them growing, and the suicides make them cry.

         It seems only children can keep them breathing what with adults beliefs fading through the reality they live in.

                     Birds live for angels, they just fly and explore for them, unsure if heaven has a boundary with the sky.

                                      And the echo of their songs engulf our minds.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The World

      Before we enter the world, we are clueless of its capabilities and think of ourselves worthy of luck. But than the world tickles your life, whether as early as childhood or as late as middle age, it starts to happen. But no matter the tightness in our throats or the tears that flood our eyes, we seem to heal into something stronger. Like a Christmas ornament smashed by your toddler cousin and slowly is reconstructed into a glorious statue.