Dan Medina

Her eyes sparkle,
as if blessed by the
brilliance of suns upon
suns, emitting the purity
...

My nightmares
Never leave
Find a way
Such a longing
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Balance, find balance between these.
Such is the story of the mind and heart.
For when the heart speaks,
it is the mind which chooses to listen.
...

Inspiration. Creation. Determination.
The greatest minds.
The weakest beings.
...

To these things seen- what ode is there to memories past?
of people known, of places cherished
of times and cities, of oceans, of nightmares, of love, of hatred
of good, of evil
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What power is there in your hands?
Can you discover those gifts?
For some will write words without meaning, betraying the power birthed into their hands.
Yet, some will discover these profound depths,
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Father time, oh father time,
what memories are held in your bosom
And warm moments locked in your core?
Those memoirs of bliss so stowed away
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What does it mean to forgive?
Is it a minute saying adjoined with a simple phrase?
Or a profound ambition deeply rooted within this heart?
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Struggle whispers to me constantly,
Its relentless tug,
Its drowning blanked.
Yet, Struggle and I dance.
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Patience. Time. Understanding.
Grant me these this day.
For I am flawed, and always will be.
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I loathe you with every force of hatred and wrath within
You hoard deception and lie
To give into false truths-false hopes
There you dangle a prize worth fighting for,
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Take me to a place where the birds can no longer fly,
And where rolling seas feathers endless skies.
Where the sun’s violent ferocity touches the moon’s subtle tranquility,
And the vast depths of the ocean seem to cease.
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It is this beauty that goes unnoticed
It is this beauty that flows below the depths of common perception
It is this beauty that is sought and discovered, not noticed in sight
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Oh Places. Oh these journeys walked by life.
So common- yet so individual that those who traverse these paths feel
so alone, so distant, so isolated, and aloof.
Yet, in isolation- there is a connection.
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Those words may be as sweet as honey,
but to this girl-they strike no chord.
Such lovely phrases wrapped in bliss,
but which her heart cannot afford.
...

Oh what do I call you?
For you are a lingering perception.
You present me with no escape,
stricken with a deprivation and a void which doth pierce this soul.
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You and I don't get along so well.
You are my greatest adversary,
but without you-I cannot be.
...