Jug of Milk

Adjacent vulnerability welling up my throat.

I saw in a full  clear jug of milk

fresh grass pile up and float

It was the mourning of my past

and my heart’s ill hope

that something for his future might just slope

This was the fresh grass, like a fresh cut

that polluted my jug

for my mourning and my cut would always rise up fresh

and ruin my morning drink

my afternoon drink

and my evening drink

and my night drink

to the point- that I would not think.

the sadness in my desires

for wholesome love to light my fires

spoiled my every drink

depriving me of pure happiness

and the pure willingness

to focus on God

thus leaving me flawed


Just like the grass in my milk





The eyes of free will

It’s amazing how as children we see the world so purely, everything becomes meaningful, even the tone of a parent makes the biggest difference. seeing the world through emotion and reading through the language of emotional value. whereas as we get older symbols and definitions become the foundation of our thinking, tainting our views and limiting the possibilities that a child may see.