My heart broke in New Mexico,
But I made love in the San Juans,
Forgave you in the Tetons,
And washed you away in the Colorado.
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Photo by Corey Collins on Unsplash
I yearn for the freedom of the road,
Where the Airstream pumps the beat of my heart,
The shadows of the landscape,
Lights the caverns of serendipity,
Rolling through its divine,
I feel it’s allure,
Taunting and insightful,
Its lips pursed stealing a kiss from my obedience.
Love is in the details,
Hidden and coy,
But intense like the breath of God.
The sun serenades through the summit,
As the dusky sky calls to the nocturnal,
Boots cozied by the fire,
Releasing the stories it holds,
From the rambunctious of asphalt,
To the headiness of backwoods dirt,
Forgiveness drifts to where only the stars can see,
Loitering in contemplation,
The moons winks in revival.
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I’ve spent months in daydreams,
Where the mountain brooks flow through timbers,
I longed for the briars to pierce my skin,
To know that I am alive with cadence,
Lullabied by the breath of morning,
Stirred by the reflective sighing dawn,
I came to know,
Men were made to be wild,
With heightened senses,
Erasing the hue of artificial smells,
As dew washes away the contempt of solitude,
I am free where only the eagles can see me,
Laid bare by winter’s afternoon,
Drifts of capes dances in the background of fire,
The wood burns as deep as my soul,
As my breath labors for a full moon,
I swear at daybreak,
For I wasn’t done drifting in dunes,
I search for gratitude in the tension of remembrance,
As the new day incubates, the cauldron of memories.
Photo by Catalin Dragu on Unsplash
Here is my ASAP Comedy Bootcamp Graduation set! Enjoy!
I hold the mountains if they were my own,
Losing a part of myself in the sunrise;
The cresting warmth against the moody cliffs,
Hugs the snow-capped peaks;
So high they could shake the hand of God,
I sink into the forgetfulness of urban life,
As I fall in love with places,
That I’ve never been.
The blue birds came,
And I wept for the tulips,
For their bloom died with serenity.
Culling grey skies of winter sets a chilling warmth;
Soft as a silk handkerchief against the skin,
I feel the vibrations of the cunning solstice,
Nothing too vain I suppose…
Clustered in her independence,
Her rocky edges holds the artist’s heart,
A sea of change in her Gaudi atmosphere,
Small bites along her back,
Charms the weary seamen to her shores,
Barna they call her,
The vibrations of a thousand guitar strings,
Hums the embrace of an American’s heart.
I thought of you in Barcelona,
And thought of nothing,
I think she healed me,
But who knows….
I thought this would be an allegory,
But I became distracted,
The Sagrada stole my gaze;
I suppose that’s the nature of God.
