Finding Joy

Find the thing that swells your heart
until it almost comes apart
convinced now you could float or fly
the feeling of it makes you cry
Why can't life feel this way each minute
rebuild you life from deep within it
A shining tower built from rapture
so bright other hearts are captured

Warrior Woman

The warrior woman emerges each day
stepping her toes to the line
armed with a heart that is open and free
and a wisdom that reaches through time
She never attacks but stonelike she stands
advancing with boldly made steps
She leaves her impression in day dreams and smiles
fueled by the tears she has wept
She loves unabashedly, helps with abandon
and heals with uncowering spirit
Her words work like magic on souls once thought lost
with a truth for those willing to hear it
Queen, witch, or sorceress she pays no mind
to the names that so many have called her
She knows who she is and what she must do
no matter what fate may befall her

I Am She

I am she who wields the sword
to fight the rut
to cut the cord
to dominate my universe
to carve the path
I shall traverse

I am she who casts the spell
to turn my mind
away from hell
to find joy in the tiny places
and see the love
that hides in faces

I am she who bears the load
who likes to choose
the untread road
life's lessons guide me ever farther
when life gets hard
I get harder

I am she who roots in love
who digs in deep
removes the gloves
I shed the cage that holds my heart
I'll risk the chance
it's torn apart

The Work of Art

A head holds words as can a page
Of any color and any age
A galaxy or grain of sand
A cannon or a shaky hand
But with these worlds come other thoughts
of times we blushed and times we fought
When devastation was our flavor
be it choked upon or swished and savored
So then blue skies become monsoons
and manors become tiny rooms
much like the dust upon our shelves
the walls that stand we built ourselves
Time now to lay askew the stones
that snare our souls and bind our bones
Our minds are meant to drift and soar
not fester chained to others bore
We've suffered sin and forged our follies
Faked our smiles through others jollies
but now we heal through reckoning
the truth in you is beckoning
so find the art that lives inside
and tell us why you've smiled or cried
it's not a burden you must hold
release and let your wings unfold

Becoming

The mask has slipped
The covering torn
so tightly gripped
so avidly worn
but then a breeze
a patch of light
it's shed with ease
no more a fight
The costume falls
the bareness felt
A new form calls
No clasp no belt
Free and flowing
Wild and strong
A look of knowing
A magic song
A step toward power
So unashamed
Feel them glower
then step again

Tradition part 3

Here is Part 1 if you haven't read it yet!

And Here is part 2!


When I awoke, I felt restored in spite of my wounds, and a feeling of lightness spread over me. I was free. My duty had been done and was successful. I even laughed out loud with a sort of giddiness that made me feel a little uncomfortable after it was over. I exited the cave and found my bag and coverings behind the rock where I had left them. My love’s remains were gone, I had hoped to perhaps bury them, but a part of me wondered if it wasn’t some trick of the beast that had materialized her in the first place. I donned my gear and began my journey back. It was still morning, and there was a bright sun that shone with a warmth that had been absent the day before. The forest sang with life, and the sound of drops from the melting snow played a sort of music to accompany my walk.

I stopped halfway through and ate the remaining third of my meal from the previous day. I relived my triumph with each bite. Once I was finished and refilled with pride, I carried on. As the sinking sun dropped purple curtain across the sky, I reached the cabin and was greeted with a raucous noise. The celebration which had been hesitantly waiting to begin exploded upon my arrival. The joy on their faces reflected my own and some even surpassed it. There were copious amounts of food, music, and dancing. I even saw some mothers clutching their young sons and crying.

One of the elders who had trained me sidled up to me when things had quieted a bit and asked how it had gone. I relayed my story, leaving out the presence of my dream girl. He smiled proudly and clapped me on the back, but I could see a disappointment in his eyes. I asked what troubled him, and he simply said, “Do not despair. Just promise you will help train the next appointee.” “Of course!” I replied. He simply nodded his head and moved off to talk to some other revelers. I was then swept off to a warm bath in the cottage. As the layers from my journey dissolved into the bath, I watched the water, dirt and blood combine into a color not unlike the beast. I shuddered within, and despite the shedding of my travels in this tub I knew that I would not get over this experience quickly.

An older woman brought me to the backyard near the fire to rinse off the residue of the bath. As she dumped the warm water over my head, it rained over me like a wave of comfort. The warm feeling spread, and I bowed my head to let it wash over me. I watched the ground as she poured the third and final bucket over me and saw the remnants of the cave forming a swirl within the puddles of water that had formed. Then I noticed a glob no larger than a bubble, and perhaps it was a bubble after all, but it seemed more solid then that. I was fully shivering now, not because of the cold air, but because the idea of bringing any piece of that beast back with me seemed like a betrayal of reality.

The woman wrapped a warm blanket around me and led me inside. I sat thinking of the bubble and realized that I had not defeated the monster at all. I had only killed it. I had killed it and then given it the means to return. My blood was all over that cave, moist and red. This was the vehicle it needed to return. I was its new creator. It was then that I realized my true role, that I was a part of a cycle now, a cycle that brought nightmares, pain, and despair; a cycle that resulted in the heroes and their victories becoming fodder for the next revolution to progress. An ever rolling wheel that turns flesh to dust, then mud, then flesh again.

Tradition Part 1

The sun peeked over the earth, and its light covered the ground like a gush of water; the meaning, however, was that of a youthful infatuation: as the wind poured from the east cutting its teeth on my face, and my eyes fought back with a salient defiance. The absence of warmth bent my back and hunched my shoulders. In spite of its brutality, the day did not lack beauty. The new snow, untouched, resembled the warm comfort that then lay rumpled on my bed. The comparison made my mind jovial just before I realized I was then wrapped within the day’s cold fingers and not my beds warm embrace. My feet crunched through the ice with each step, and as the barren trees grew closer, they towered above me in their skeletal majesty. I caught my first full breath as the wind receded for a few short moments, and my lungs quaked from the cold of it.
I broke the tree line and slowed my pace.

Snow covered much of the forest floor, so the dangers and beasts were now equally hidden and baring their teeth. I wove between the trees my ancestors planted, treading a path they had worn through bloodlines and tradition. The dawn of the first snow is the time; the cave of the beast is the place. An appointment made by the souls of the first born sons of my people and kept by the second born.Tales of the massacre and first born extinction had been told to me throughout my life by the wavering voices of the elders and by the tears of mothers who still mourn. Though years have been removed, the pain stays fresh on the surface. On the anniversary, it was a smell in the air, like the embers of a fire or the blood of birth. That anniversary was tomorrow. Today was our insurance that the fires would not be filled with bodies, and the wails would be only for the past.

The elders had expressed how important this walk would be, to absorb the peace of it and commit all of the sounds and sensations to memory. I would need them, to replace more terrifying moments later. Instead of breaking bones, I would hear snapping twigs; instead of hell born roars, bubbling brooks. This process was as vital as its end would be. It was the only way to come out of it alive. I listened to each branch cracking from its burden of snow. I watched the rabbits dart from their homes, bounding confidently through the forest floor’s thick coverage. I felt the cold air stick to me with each step, as if the layers of the snow itself were stuck to my skin. I reveled in all things natural, for soon, in spite of its harshness, it would be a comfort I would long for, even beg to be with again.

As the sun reached its peak, it sent shafts of light through the bare thick branches of this dead forest. I could hear snow, as it melted, drip upon the stones on the ground. I stopped for a few minutes to eat my last meal in the fashion which the elders had instructed. I divided it into 3 portions: one for me, one for the forest, and one for the hope that I would return. As I trekked on, the sun slid down the sky, turning the forest into a museum of shadows. One might see them as dark beings waiting for you to turn your back, so they can take you away. I saw them as those who had made this journey before, the ones who didn’t return. They knew what the result could be and still stood in support.

The sun settled on its haunches; red and orange light alighted from the horizon. As I got closer to the cave, there was an unnatural warmth in the surrounding area. The ground at this point was wet from the melting snow and slid beneath my feet. Each time I lifted my foot, it made a sucking sound, each footfall an uneasy splash. My shoes quickly became caked with the thick mud, adding weight to my already realized trudgery.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the cave appeared like a looming threat. My heart tried in vain to depart from my chest. I drew in a startled breath; the gasp echoed into the mouth of the cave, and footsteps echoed back. I scrambled behind a rock and shed my bag and coverings, so that I could move more swiftly. A beautiful young woman emerged from the dark opening: a woman I had loved in my dreams for many years. Her skin was a light brown but seemed to shimmer with a gold hue. Her eyes , a dark brown, emanated an unrivaled warmth and welcome. Her mouth was broad, smiling, and surrounded by perfectly shaped lips I had kissed a million times, in my slumbers over the years. Her body, that I had held countless times, was soft and shapely.
Then with a voice I knew as well as my own, she called to me “Aza, come to me.” I turned the corner, ready to run to her. She smiled even more broadly, and I saw her eyes sparkle at the sight of me. Then a claw shot from the mouth of the cave and tore through her throat.