Worry Jar

Blue, deep, vast – As the ocean stays endless, so do your eyes. Full of wonder, mystery, curiosity, They hold the key to your space that you hide from me. From everyone. They long like the stars in the sky to expand And be free, Free, like a breath or a

My existence comes into focus when I look into her eyes. Everything else fades away, I'm left with the distillate of my life, Impurities, gone (nothing). What's pure, right in front of me (everything). Bunny is pure, Bunny is good. By studying her, By learning from her, I hope can

In a tempestuous world, Her mind is blissfully still. She accepts what comes. A scattering of seed. Dried worms, her favorite! A mouthful of dirt? Her worries don't linger. A fox in the hen house! Chased away by the hound! Quickly forgotten... She enjoys each moment effortlessly. Clucking alongside her

The goblin who lives Below scurries through his damp, mossy corridors... Splashing over the Collecting Stream, Prancing through the Maze of Echoes, Finally entering the Cavern of Broken Promises. The goblin walks pridefully, as if he is returning home in victory. He drops deftly into a steep passageway in the

Otherworldly, yet seems at home on your easy chair. But sometimes you'll find her honing her claws, On the bark of an ancient grove, On a distant moon. She travels easily between that world and ours. You're fortunate to have been chosen. She has seen many other worlds, Many other

Standing there, I saw her. Face soft, eyes bright and wide... Like mine. A doll-faced woman for this doll-faced man. A pair fashioned from smooth plastic, Both created to serve. Once their service is complete, drifting through the world, Searching for the one who completes the pair. And there she

"What a glorious place," says he, Bounding through the field. Not a cloud in the sky, Not a care in his heart. And deeper he goes, Without fear of reproach. Until a creature emerges from its hole, And crones with delight: "For you, boy, a most horrid surprise!" The day

It reminds you of something. Through the mists of time, You see it in your mind's eye. Not clearly defined, But solid nonetheless. You can feel its weight, Then feel it slipping away... Until the moment passes, And fades back into the mists.

A stone path winding through a garden, The garden abandoned and overgrown with creeping, winding green plants, harsh and rough, but thriving nonetheless. The occasional punctuation of color: Wildflower. The creeping plants somehow leave a path clear; A small dog prances down it. The air changes as he passes, as

Water cascading down hundreds of meters of smooth rock; Out of place in a barren landscape of fine red dirt. To the glance, devoid of life; On closer inspection, teeming with it. A beetle walks with singular purpose, oblivious to the impossible vastness surrounding her; Oblivious to the beauty of

A lonely prairie, A house in the middle. Dogs, the laughter of children traveling outward, Meeting no obstacles, Eventually fading into nothing. A creaky wooden door takes you inside. Steam rises off a hearth glowing with heat, Meat roasts on a stick. An old man, An old woman, Silence but