Chance Encounter

My mind is a maze of brainless cutaways.

Alternative alleyways of alleviating allocations. Always allowing a little leeway out of the situation. Alluringly elusive, what chance had I until now.


I caught your eye in the middle of a thick crowd. You co-signed my hand sign and before we could question the equal sign, there we were making math. Adam and Eve wrapped in an animate dance while the animals watched in a trance.

Suddenly our breathing became saiyan vapors on a cloudy night. Backed by black, there rebelled the misty whisps of white. Taking a step back, shoulders still in class forming right angles like parallelograms, the question hung between us.

One step further and math wouldn’t be the only problem. One full explosion and there’d be no one left to solve it.

Beams glare, shining off of a reflective mirror. It seems there is air that’s clean here. Twenty thousand feet above Asgardian sea level. Flying high like a mountain soaring on the back of Aslan’s racing stripes, primate delight, I’m going ape with hype, this has been a close encounter of the strange kind, lowkey.

And now we’re back in line at the diner.

I open my mouth to place my order, then I smile at her. Her eyes twinkle with a knowing gleam. My hand shoves deep into my pocket, burying my phone in a grave of deadened ambition.

We’ve been down this road before.
Almost didn’t survive.
It’s a violation to receive a second chance twice.

We nodded slowly at each other.

I made my way to my table.

She rang many customers and I ate a lot of food. After the fifth refill of my drink I was like that one aunt we all have… bursting at the seams. I paid and tipped my cap to the fair lady. She smiled the fantasy I would never live. Some stories just aren’t meant to be told or revisited.

With the air of the President, I whooshed through the door without looking back.

And never…
Saw her…



The Right Slave

My body is a rebel.

If I’m trying to blast off it’ll stall the shuttle, and if there’s only 30 seconds on the clock it’ll waste the huddle…

It wants what it wants, and fights against what’s best, I guess, if I let it have its way I would never rise from getting rest.

It prefers to chill than to interact, to eat than to chill, to nap than to eat, and more than anything-

This wretched body craves sleep.

From my cells to my sole, and from my ignorance to my know-

It tells me that all I ever need is “just a little more.”

A little more sleep, a little more rest, a little more folding of the hands and laying of the head…

Every time I awake I know I could’ve awaken dead, and that this body must be my slave lest it become dread.

There can be no reasoning, no loop holes, and no way out, for my resolve outweighs the weight of the oppression draping me over the plow..!

True power lies between rage and serenity, the enemy is my inner me, intricately entering its history into me-

But now I hold the pen, the reset, and I’ve got the burn to win.

In order for me to accomplish, I’ve to get firm and stern and set my flesh into enslavement.

Shackle it to my will, and whip it when it gets out of line, because the reality imparted by the Divine is that this life isn’t my goal-

It’s already mine.


~The Wordsmith

Clocked Out

I offered thee mine hand;

And inside its grasp was the glory of Eden;

Scornfully thou didst stick up thine nose…

And I vowed I would find a more worthy woman.

With my dying breath I would avenge your blindness;

With my living breath I would up-end your harshness with kindness;

True treasure need only be discovered, for it is already aware of both its shine and value;

You- you just wanted freedom to decrease both our values;

But now thou art bankrupt and I have struck gold;

Thou formerly possessed the entrance to clock in to my love…

But one who has surpassed you hath punched in the code…

And you my dear-

Have been clocked out.


~The Wordsmith


I have given you chance after chance…

Time after time I have given you room to change flavor..

But you refuse.

Either you’re unwilling to, or you think you’re winning two…

Or you simply do not fit into change like a tidal wave in a swimming pool…

You see the depths of your own childhood lack and need-

Therefore… you don’t see me.

Please don’t make me hate you.

I am a child in addition to a man and as much as I would prefer to be-

I am not immune.

My biological systems do not operate in a vacuum-

I can’t just suck up your spiteful attitude without it hurting me too….

Please don’t make me hate you.

I have a yet flaming desire to be desired…

A yearning to be the son you never gave me the opportunity to become…

Yet you wage a war.

A cold one in the summer time, and nuclear hot in winter…

You have so many triggers- and there’s no safety.

When I make the aerial risk and leap into communication-

You are not there to catch me…

It’s affecting my siblings…

And you are wounding my mother.

Rapidly you decrease my choices on how to respond to you, but I beg you to find and choose another-

Please don’t make me hate you.


~The Wordsmith


The sky accepts the emotional state of the clouds…
Pulling them into a loving embrace when they begin to weep.
The compassion between them is unrivaled, and each tear drop splash to the ground-
Is an extension of love… of comprehension.
Even when the sky feels stormy he defers to the whims of each nimbus drifting…
For he has acquired knowledge.
He has consulted with the sun, and discerned their general formation…
He has paced the stars with the moon, gleaning tips on high tides and what the water is sayin…
The sky has pursued wisdom until it cost him his color…
He absorbed more until he was blue in the face, but now he is another…
He applied his giftings and began interpreting the intricately simple singing from the trees..
The door to knowledge has unlocked itself, offering to set him free…
When is a sky not JUST a sky?
When it becomes MORE.
When it transforms into Heavenly stationary for the Lord to script His glory in golden letters too powerful for the mind alone…
When it becomes not just an encounter, but an EXPERIENCE.
Experts are hearing this, and believing the sky to be delirious, but he is not phased- neither furious nor curious…
For the sky now knows.
Caught in his gaze like a bride in a dress, he evokes over you a personal sense of your own wondrous beauty at its best- at all times.
And suddenly you forget that you were looking at the sky at all,
For the greatest gift is to make 2 inches feel like they’re 9 feet tall.

~The Wordsmith