Day 36

The staunch evergreen
doesn’t understand my gripes
about these cold days.

Day 35

Winter never asks.
He just comes in, guns blazin’
with a cold, white fire.

Day 34

Mothers raise their sons
with the knowledge that they will
belong to the world.

Day 33

Graveyards have nothing
for me to hug; yet, hug is
all I want to do.

Day 32

How much more plastic
can the Earth swallow before
she smothers and dies?

Day 31

I am fantastic
at knowing “how-to”, but then
failing to do it…

Day 30

Simplicity is
lost on the people it holds
to its worn bosom.

Day 29

The things I don’t say
sit still on my lips for days,
with nowhere to go…

Day 28

There’s fire in a man
who places all at the altar
of such inspired madness.

Day 27

The future whispers
about too many soulless
forms, too far from home.