One, Two, Three.





Here it comes.

Deep breath,


Heat pounding.

Skin crawls,

I want out of my own body.

Mind running,


Deep breath.






Deep breath.




Eyes closed.

Can’t see,

Don’t want to hear.

Block it out.

Deep breath.






Find the place.

Think trees,

Think water,

Can hear it now.

Feel the warmth,

Smell the flowers,

Just breathe.




Open eyes,

Look around,

Hasn’t changed,

Not in danger.







Serenity in a chair that isn’t there.



The Dream

A dream is a single gulp of air before you jump off a cliff.

That last sniff of roses before leaving your grandmother’s house the last time.

A quiet,

All consuming thought,

Of near perfect existence that couldn’t possibly exist.

A dream held high and aloft,

Something to be aspired to,

To grasp at when you’re down at your lowest point.

A panic attack on the floor of your bedroom,

A box full of tissues sitting next to you after a break up,

These things cannot touch the dream.

No one can touch it but yourself.

We abuse the dream,

Twisting it until it’s nothing like what we wanted in the first place,

Crying over what it has become,

Cursing at the world for changing it –

But you changed it.

You allowed experiences to change the dream,

Warping it,

Turning it around,

Shattering it.

But you can change it back.

You can take it back.

You can bring it back.

Because the only thing stronger than the dream –

Is the hope that lives inside the dream.


Note: I have never been base jumping, but a friend of mine has and this is how he says he feels.



stand on the bluff,

Arms out-stretched

To catch the cool breeze

That carries the smell of rain.

The wind from the east whips hard

like a driver cracking a whip over his team

I make a wish before jumping

for the wings I have yet to see.

Heated blood pumps through my veins

my heart races

breath catching

as that first few seconds of freedom lifts my soul.

Falling in to the wind

that crashes upon the cliff

I reach for the cord at my shoulder and pull

my breath whooshing out as the silk canopy snaps open.

Carried on the wind

toggles adjusting to steer me towards land and not water

my heart crushed as I realize

my wings are only short-lived.


Once upon a time

Come and hear my tale

of a kingdom of two colors

and a war where white seemed to fail.


For in this story

the White Queen weeps

and the King of Red

has a secret to keep.


It starts in the north

upon a lake of frozen blue

where there was a palace trapped

that held the White Crown true.


Upon the head of the Lost Queen

the crown waits

for the one who is true

and open to her fate.


In the castle there is a room divided by color

where the Queen sits in frozen scene

forever cold

trapped in a scream.


Red must face White

for a land long-lost

to gain a foothold

in a war gone to frost.


Queen faces King

who locked her away

to melt the ice

the game must you play.


Should Red win the crown

land shall forever be of frost

the opposite of White

who does not want the land lost.


To save the land

you must find the Red Kings crest

and look for the secret

that lays upon his frozen chest.


But be forewarned

Red does not play nice

and be prepared

to face him upon the ice.


Hooves paw at the ground,

Thrusting the bodies they carry forward-

Suppressed silence broken

by thunder upon the ground.


The field is silence held on the ragged edge-

The faint miasma of dawn is pregnant with false hope

Ready to break free only to be reined in-

Is the thunder upon the ground.


Heads lifted and gazing over the field of battle-

It’s valley in shadowed repose-

The occupants it holds waiting

The sound of thunder to fill the air.


The call of the lark,

so full of hope-

Fills the air as the sound of the drum rises above-

The thunder filling the air.


Cry of honor goes up over the drums-

The bodies the hooves carry thrusting forward-

One last gasp of breath filling the lungs

Before the plunge in to the thunderous roar.


Stretched thin and weary-

Muscles move in well trained symphony

Taking down the enemy-

Lungs filling and expelling the thunderous roar of victory.


Silence tries to reign as the valley reposes with the night-

Cries of the newly dying held in anguish

embraced by the living

whose memory is still with the dying sound of thunder upon the ground.


Time passes with newly won memories-

Youth quickly becoming a yearning of old men-

Whose memories are still filled-

With thunder upon the ground.