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A flash of light.
The birth of something vast, and yet infinitesimally small.
A seed of life in a perpetual night.
The rise of consciousness, chaos, order, and the legacy of all.

Oceans of energy, tides of infinite direction and dimension,
islands of independence and inter-dependency
all in a constant state of reinvention, floating, twisting, and turning,
on a perceivably black but in reality multi-coloured sea.

Every galaxy, every star, every planet, every quantum of life,
has a legacy and also an ancestry and a lineage to the light
that still illuminates after billions of years-
a celestial bloodline that links every newborn to every nebula,
that stems from the core of every planet
to the heart of every intergalactic pioneer.

The legacy of humanity is the same correlating story as that of the universe,
and has been since that first evolutionary flash-
and that symbiosis will continue to last
even after what we think of ourselves and the world
has returned to dust and ash.

Their are some who fear the unknown depths of their own minds,
just as they fear the oceans of Earth,
or the uncertainty and the confusion of the dark-
such trepidation has a gravity to it that is easy to orbit,
but which at the same time holds them back
and colours their view of the world stark.

Just as the light from stars continues to shine
long after they expel their final solo performance to the audience
of their intergalactic neighbours-
every form of energy, every particle, every person, affects another-
even as it dims and wavers.

The way we were, the way we are, the way we are going,
the way we have always been, and the way we are always going to be,
is life, the universe, the beginning, the end, existing as one,
then and now- and in a word,
that is our legacy.

The first time I saw my father cry
was heart-breaking and world shattering to me-
I think I was about eight years old,
the night that our dog Jess died,
the night that everyone in our house came together
and cried with my Dad as we said goodbye to a part of our family.
Thinking back to that night is like trying to remember a dream,
but what is still real in my mind, and what has stayed with me,
is seeing my Dad overcome with so much sadness,
because it was something that I had never seen.
I cried on that night because Jess was my dog,
but the reason I cried and could not stop crying
was because to me my Dad was a God,
and seeing the most powerful
and one of the most influential people in my life powerless,
as he appeared,
it taught me from an early age that everything comes to an end
and that even the god that was my father had limits to his magic
that he was forced to adhere.

Whenever I see my father cry
I feel every tear of sadness, and joy, as if they were my own;
whenever I see my fathers tears well-up in front of his mesmerizing blue eyes,
I always take him by the hand and tell that he is not alone.
My Dad feels the world more so than anyone I have ever known,
my Dad is a lover and a genius of all things-
as would be more than apparent if you were to talk to him
and if you were lucky enough to visit him at his home.
There is nothing that hurt my heart more,
and there is nothing else that to this day brings more tears to my eyes,
than to see the powerhouse who is my Dad overcome with emotion,
and the sight of seeing my father cry.

Cool are the raindrops that fall upon my skin,
dark are the clouds in the sky above me;
welcome is the touch of purity on my lips,
cleansing are the tears of the sky
that I can feel, but which I can barely see.
I am standing in my garden wearing only my Nike’s,
my jeans, and my favourite black T-shirt;
I am standing still with a smile on my face
completely saturated to the bone and feeling an intense sense of hurt.
Where this feeling has come from I cannot at first discern;
however, I was compelled to step out into this rainstorm for a reason,
and at the time I remember thinking that I was going to combust and burn
if I did not walk out into the open air
and allow the elements to soothe my pain,
and that is why I chose to free myself of logical reason
and shower in the effervesce of the rain.
People may think me mad, but I am in my element-
I have always felt at home in a downpour
and this one feels like an exceptionally epic event.
A mist of energy and water-vapour engulf and immerse me,
and as I close my eyes, stretch out my arms,
and hold my face up high to the sky,
I can perceive a weight and a cloud the size of planet Earth
evaporate from my body and be set free.
And as the rain continues to pour,
I feel like I have been reborn, renewed, and transmogrified-
I open my eyes, staring up as the raindrops hitting my irises,
I wipe the tears from my face, and yet again I smile with realization
as I throw open my arms wide.
The rain abates and finally stops,
leaving me soaking wet, freezing,
but feeling more alive and more excited than my first day of school-
the arousing smell of petrichor is in the air and all-around,
and I feel content, complete, and cool.

What is in a word?
Where do words and names originate?
Is it all down to chance, the slip of a tongue, an accidental pen-stroke;
or is there a reason in there meaning, a pre-written script of fate?

I have always been fascinated by the origins of things,
people, places, words, and names-
first name, surname, country, city, animal, tree-
the varying causes that are close to our heart,
the reasons that we carry for why we are such a devotee.

The origin of an idea is of particular interest to me;
the first heartbeats of an inspiration
always break-free of my chest and always find themselves
written on the pages of my life in enduring ink for all the world to see.

There really is something to marvel at “the start”-
a whole set of new experiences, memories, feelings, and fascinations
that may lead to a partner, a friend, a change of life,
or a masterpiece of living, breathing, inspiring, art.

I believe it is important to remember, to learn, and to remind ourselves
where things came from, and why they came into being in the first place:
our names, for example; names can be changed,
but each has its own story to be told, its own path that you can retrace.

Everything has a heart,
everything that matters and that lasts
has an undeniable attraction and gravity about it,
because it came into being with meaning;
everything and anything that has a passion pulsating from its core-
a legend, a hero, a story, an idiom,
is a legend, hero, story, idiom, worth reflecting and believing.

I am an optimist of the future,
but I am also a lover and a cherisher of a what has come before-
I am always enthused about hearing why something was made,
and for whom it was first made for.

A true wonder of the world
is something that connects with the wonder of your birth,
and which still energizes, and creates, new life everyday under your skin-
a truth, and an insight into the entire universe’ existence, your life-
and our collective origins.

The greatest sadness in my life
is that I have no one to share my world with me-
I have no one that I can wrap my arms around,
no one who I can kiss passionately,
no one to whom I can spend an entire afternoon reciting poetry.
Is that too much to ask for?
Is that a request akin to that of a miracle?
Maybe there is no one out there for me?
Maybe I am just not that special?

I don’t want to sound like I am not happy in my life:
I am loved, inspired, I have phenomenal and wonderful people around me
who make life worth living-
friends and family who I could not live without,
and who never stop giving;
but I long for the touch and the warmth of another-
the contact and the connection that can only be shared with a lover.

My time will come again,
someday soon I have faith that the stars will align
and I will meet “the one”-
the person for whom the web of my life was spun.
I am sure that the fates of love have a match for me
beyond any soul-mate that I could conceive,
who I am meant to be with the rest of my life-
at least that is what I want to believe.

What I love about you the most
is your passion and your love of life that knows no bounds,
what touches my heart every time I think about you
is that you care about every living thing-
the betterment of animals, people, nature, and all that surrounds.

What makes you so special to me
is that you enshrine and define the best things in life that I hold dear-
you make me smile, you make me feel,
you inspire every sonnet, you dispel every fear.

You are my favourite person in the entire world,
you represent and keep alive within me
the greatest treasure of a good man;
you are the personification of hope,
the immortal embodiment of natures character-
and I am your enduring and adoring fan.

You make the world a better world every day that you are in it,
the universe smiled upon all of Earth the day that you were born,
and the reach that your starlight will shine has no limit.

You will forever be unique and one of a kind-
and every minute, of every hour, of every day,
I put my hand on my chest
and I thank the stars that you are in my life
and that you are a part of my song;
what I love about you is that you inspire all who know you
without knowing that you are an inspiration,
and that you have been a muse to everyone your entire life, all along.

From a single star in the night sky,
I can see the birth and the death of an entire solar system;
from a single echo of light
I can see the dawn and the evolution of an extraterrestrial civilization.

From a lone seed planted in the ground,
I can see the fertilization and the growth
of a majestic and gargantuan tree;
from a lone drop of water
I can see the trunk, the branches, the leaves
of a thousand arbors radiating there majesty.

From the faintest of smiles,
I can feel the beaming joy that lives to be expressed
on the face of another person;
from the faintest of glances,
I can share and envision another persons view of the world-
their trepidation’s; their needs; their hopes; their fascinations.

From the most unique and beautiful of voices,
I am transported and removed out of time
to a state of being that dwarfs that of ecstasy;
from the most phenomenal and sublime of voices,
I am overcome and inspired by their superhuman
insight conveyance ability.

From one idea; from one word; from one man, woman, or child,
I can extrapolate a limitless array of potential
and extraordinary possibilities;
from one idea I can see the whole,
from one word I can see an epic,
from one conversation with anyone,
I can extrapolate an unlimited resource of amazing
and untapped capabilities.

From one of anything in the universe
you can easily extrapolate a million,
from one of any dream in the galaxy
you could easily extrapolate that they number in the trillions;
from one of anything that you feel, think, and believe,
never give up or be swayed by opposing views, or consternation;
because a long time ago, from nothing came everything-
so start with one, and then give all that you are to extrapolation.

A strange wave of feelings, emotions, inspirations, and faces,
that for years have resided in my memory,
have now come back to the front
and are once again inspiring me.

In my mind I am being taken back in time
to the muse of my first poem;
in my memory I am reliving the love, the passion,
the birth of the brand new world,
that was created and inspired by them.

It is as if I were saying goodbye
to magical muse who gifted me my first rhyme;
but until now I have never felt that way,
and I would never want to imagine such a time.

I don’t know where this feeling of loss has come from,
I don’t know why it is currently inhabiting me-
I still love my first muse,
I am more inspired than ever before,
and I still get a rush like no other
from my love of writing poetry.

Perhaps it is simply nostalgia,
my painful longing to do-over the mistakes of my past,
or maybe I am trying to put things behind me
and accept my life at last.

I believe that a single word can be as poetic and as epic
as any of the greatest poems ever written.
I believe that a one word poem can inspire anyone and everyone,
but to my knowledge it has yet to have been done.

The most beautiful one word poem I have ever heard
is also the name of my first muse-
this name is so special and inspiring to me
I use it sparingly and its beauty I never abuse.

I beg that this will not be the last time
that I am inspired by perfection,
I journey back through time again and again
in order to stop my memory of her from becoming a reflection.

As always, just the thought of my first muse
is enough to calm the waters of my mind-
just like the legend of old, my halcyon, my muse,
will forever remain serene and supreme-
an oasis of timeless inspiration,
whose memory I will never leave behind.

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