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Standing on the sandy beach of an unfamiliar shore,
as I look out to a sea that I have never laid eyes on before,
I look around me, and out to the horizon beyond
to attempt to identify where my mind had chosen for me to abscond.
I was only this evening day dreaming about a place like this:
a beautiful beach, a twilight hour, a moment of overwhelming happiness,
but that was just a fantasy, an illusion, a made-up facade;
however, right now it feels more like I am standing in a holiday postcard –
unable to speak, unable to move, and unable to move away
from being witness to the beginning of what appears to be a brand new day.

As I stand and wait for someone to come, or for something to happen;
at that exact moment my attention is instantly drawn to distraction
by the feeling and by the sight of falling rain drops on me and on the ocean,
and, like Shakespeare’s three witches while mixing together their magic potion,
I heard myself say: ‘Double, double toil and trouble;
may the Fire soon burn, and the caldron bubble.’
‘Where am I? And what am I doing here?
I am obviously dreaming, but why must I be soaked through and so bereft of cheer?
As I continue to stand unmoving and unhappily in my place
I feel tears start to form and begin to stream down my face,
but what are such worth in comparison to such rain –
an unstoppable force that is able to unknowingly instill in us such pain.
At the very moment, when I think to myself that I cannot stand no more,
the rain decides that right now would be a good time to cease its relentless pour.
As the sky above me clears a faint glimmer of something appears on the horizon,
and that is when a voice whispers to me to wish for something before the coming of the sun.
Although wet through to my feet I smiled to myself none the less,
and at the exact moment my thoughts and my emotions began to convalesce,
and as I began to recite to myself the last word of the last sentence of my wish
the door of creation opened and my words were diminished to amateurish.

As I was bathed in the golden veil of the universe itself,
I instantly felt my legs fail me, and I was unable to catch myself
from falling face-first into the sandy and salt tasting floor below me,
but for the first time since I had arrived here I believed that could finally see
where I was, and why I was here;
and at that moment I looked up at the sun and I was without fear:
I knew what I had to do, and how I was going to do it,
and in that instant I rose to my feet feeling more alive than ever, and with my face brightly lit
I proceeded to walk towards the light and to wade out to sea
not knowing to what end, nor to where what I was looking for would be.

As I walked further out to sea, with the waves now at me chest,
I looked around to the beach that I had just left and I was instantly brought to arrest
by the sight of someone standing on the beach in the exact spot where I had just been
and staring directly at me, and in that moment I realized who it was that I had seen.
As the sea deepened, and the water rose just below my head,
I remembered what the whisper I had heard had told me, and what I had said.
As I again recited my wish in the bathing light of the sun,
I closed my eyes and kept on going all the way to the horizon.

lux sit

More Bottles is what it’s all about,
going beyond the card’s that you have been dealt;
taking a risk when the consequences are uncertain,
looking to the future and daring to peak behind the curtain.

More Bottles arrive one after the other,
each and every one just as special as a lover-
inspiring me with their voice, music, and vibe-
the very embodiment of what it means to be truly alive.

More Bottles, bigger dreams;
just like sunlight on glass when it gleams,
for a moment seemingly one and the same,
an energy that you can feel, but not touch; can see, but can’t tame.

More Bottles, more possibilities-
realizing that there is no limit to your capabilities;
that you can be something more: warrior, believer, apostle-
pioneer of a new movement, just as long as you have More Bottles.

novus visum

Life itself is a gift to be cherished above all;
but to me the ability to give, to captivate, and to enthrall,
is a gift that transcend’s time and distance,
country’s, nationalities, or even language difference.

Music has always been the universal conduit
for a singer or a musician to converse and transmit
what may only be a fraction of what they really want to say;
but music, or poetry, is the only way they know how to convey
the feeling’s and meaning of their hearts desire:
an expression of their spirit that they hope will never expire.

Be it a painting, a poem, a rhyme, or a song,
a landscape, a verse, or a tune that is ten minutes long;
the gift of a truly great work of art-
music, poetry; basic, or avant-garde-
is the gift of being one of a kind; yet timeless;
to be simple; boundless, borderless, and yet limitless.

The gift of imagining, generating, and of sharing with one and all,
is a gift that should be held up high and tall
by all that are blessed with the gift to bestow,
to take someone to a place that they never thought they would ever can go.
To be able to share a part of yourself, a product of your imagining,
is one of the greatest gift’s of all- and in my opinion, one truly worth admiring.

excelsior

Today, in the 11th month, on the 11th day, in this the 11th hour;
I would like to pay tribute to those who stood up and did not cower;
to those who in the face of adversity showed the last full measure of devotion,
who sacrificed their lives so that I could sit here now so filled with emotion.
As I think of you brave men and women who gave everything you had,
I feel so much pride and love for you all, but I cannot also help but feel sad.

If more evidence were needed of devotion to ones people and to that of their country,
we need not look no further than to those who have fought in war to make the world free.
In Remembrance of the Veterans that have died and to those that live to see Armistice day;
to the families, and the innocents of war- this is the only way that I know how to pay
my heartfelt gratitude to you for the sacrifice that you have made
in the name of freedom, and that of coming to another’s aid.

I could never imagine the horrors that you went through, nor the fear that you felt,
I could never express in words my true feelings about the cost the world has been dealt.
I could never quantify the affect that war has had on you who have fought in it,
I could never truly come close to having the courage that you have had to commit.
I could never put into words the true debt that is owed, nor the respect that is due;
but what I would really like to say is two words long: thank you!

nunquam alieno

These days when I look in the mirror
I have no idea who it is who is looking back at me, however the face is definitely familiar.
Who am I? I ask myself, when I can not fathom an answer;
Is all that I am what I see before me? Am I nothing but a cancer?
The lowest of the low? Not meant for purpose?
Or maybe someone who is meant to be ridiculed in a circus?

Life was so much easier when everything seemed to run more smoothly,
when I had nothing to worry about, and when my thoughts ran more soothingly.
I know that life is over now, but where do I go from here?
because as things stand right now I am slowly being consumed by fear:
fear that what I have lost may never come again,
that I will never again gaze upon such beauty after having my heart broken with such pain.

I have heard it said that “to have loved and lost is better to have never have loved at all”;
but say that to me now, as I lie on the floor and crawl;
because I don’t think that I will ever truly recover
from the one who whose gaze always sent me in to a shudder.
When I see her face now all I want to do is scream,
as I try and reconcile what has happened to be nothing more than a dream;
and when I try and wake myself again from this nightmare,
all I can do is look at the woman that I love and stare.
Our paths have deviated from one-another;
she has found someone else, while I still continue to love her.
How do I move on? How could she just leave me like this?
All I wanted to do the last time I saw her was to give her a kiss.
I still remember the moment that she told me we were over,
that we were no longer were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

My friends say that in time she will be nothing but a memory to me-
one held in high-regard, but that I can not see.
All I can think about now is what I must have done
to have pushed the woman that I loved away as if I had done so with a gun.
On the night of our parting I cried like I had never done so before,
such a flood of emotion was expelled out of fear of not knowing what the future had in store.

I know that I will never meet or love another like her again,
of that I am certain, but the reason why I can not explain;
perhaps it is because, to me, she will always be a queen-
the most beautiful person that I have ever seen.

finis amoris sed non vitae

Blue sky above me, blue sky below me,
blue sky all around and as far as the eye can see;
I have risen, and without even having to try
I have reached beyond my grasp and I have touched the sky;
the universe within me, and the universe around me
have both come to a mutual impasse to reveal to me my destiny.

Shakespeare; Poetry; Friendship; ‘The World’ itself:
Why did I take ‘The Complete Works of Shakespeare’ from that shelf?
Why did I start writing poetry and teach myself to write in rhyme?
Was my meeting of all those who I have met simply a matter of time?
What is ‘The World’? What is the meaning of our lives?
What should we do when our moment to shine arrives:
when we are called upon to make a difference and to make our mark,
to touch people with the same magnitude as the universe’ first spark.

Since I wrote my very first stanza I have not been the same;
after that first poem I cannot convey how important poetry became.
To be inspired by life; to have patterns of words come to me as if by magic;
to write something meant for the entire world and not just for the esoteric.
To share what it’s like to have blue sky above me, blue sky below me:
to fly above the clouds, and to find inspiration in everyone and every tree.

capax infiniti

When a butterfly beats it’s wings; when a stone is dropped into a pond;
when you write a letter to the one you love; when a magician waves a magic wand;
when a pitcher throws a baseball; when a footballer scores a goal;
when a golfer puts a hole-in-one; when a soprano sings with all their soul;
when an artist creates a work of art, when a poet discovers their muse;
when a comedian makes us laugh; when we buy a new pair of shoes;
when we read something that makes us cry; when we see something that makes us act;
when we see someone for who they really are and no longer in the abstract;
when someone offers us their hand; when someone turns the other cheek;
when we look at the world around us and we realize that we are all unique.
I believe that if the wings of a single butterfly can affect the course of the weather;
I believe that if when a tragedy happens everyone becomes drawn together;
I believe that if when someone sings their voice can ‘raise the roof’;
I believe that if people say that a miracle happened, and they don’t need any proof;
I believe that if when something happens the entire world feels the effects:
I believe that we are all bound together and everything we do connects.

nos es totus iunctus

As I walk through life I am reminded of its beauty,
as I look around at every thing and everyone I gain a new affinity.
Every time I talk to someone I know, or I see someone I have yet to meet,
I think about all of the infinite possibilities of life that lie before all of our feet.
It is easy for us all to look around and see nothing of consequence;
however, when I look around, and even though I miss things in their absence,
I see hope, kindness, and synchronicity all around me:
waves of tears, laughter, and friendship- like the tides of a sea.
There are many shadows in the world, that I do not deny:
those that we abhor and make us ask why;
but the thing we must all realise is that life is about the light not the dark;
that we are all special in one way or another, and are all meant to make our mark.

vita

As I look into eternity I dream of what is out there,
I imagine every possibility as I lift up my eyes to the heavens and begin to stare.
My eyes are met by shining pin-pricks of light,
but when I look at them what I really see lies just out of sight.
To me the stars above are an insatiable invitation,
one delivered unto the entire human race to spark their imagination.
To me the universe has always represented the search for the unknown,
but also that their is so much more to life than what we are shown.
The search for truth, and the living-out of a dream,
to me is first dependent on seeing things that cannot ordinarily be seen.
Mystery has always been the catalyst for incredible leaps in a civilization:
be they of faith, hope, or simply that of coming to a realization.
I’m sure the night sky was the first mystery that anyone ever contemplated:
be that, why the moon didn’t just fall, or how the light from the stars was generated.
They say that when we look up at the sky we invariably see ourselves reflected in it,
we see the choices we’ve made and what repurcussions those choices permit.
When I look into the heavens I see hope reflected back;
something intangible that no one can take away and no one can ever attack;
something inside that will live on even after I’ve taken my last breath;
something that will be defined forever as my very own shibboleth.

infinitus

There is nothing else on Earth as unique,
as that of hearing someone’s voice when they speak.
The tone and the resonance of someone in particular
can be intoxicating to the mind of an individual listener.
A single voice can bring you to your knees,
especially if using their voice is their expertise.
A person whose range out-strips that of another
can stop you in your tracks and make you shudder.
There are some people that instantly make you weak
when you hear them sing and they astound you with their technique.
Not every voice is meant to be that of a tenor or a soprano,
not every voice can belong to that of an operatic virtuoso;
however, some don’t need to have such power in their voice
to have an effect on another which is not of their choice.
To me there is only one voice that instantly comes to mind,
and every time I hear her voice I become resigned
to hear no other who sounds as perfect as she does,
because there is no other voice that can give me the same buzz.

Vox populi, vox universum

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