(by david∆richardson)

Seeds

Night field of stars above us
You pick one we frame it with our fingers intertwined
Seeds of every generation between our hands
And the promise to teach you the little I have learned so far
Child what will you live to do?
What have I left for you?
What will we leave behind?
You learning as you're growing
Not yet knowing the world isn't always quite as beautiful
As it is now
Night field of stars above us
I pick one and name it for you
And all who are to come

These R The Thoughts

these are the thoughts that go through my head in my backyard on a Sunday afternoon
when I have the house to myself and i'm not expending all that energy on fighting with
my friend. Why is it so hard to be objective about myself? why do I feel cellularly alone? am I supposed to live in this crazy city? can blindly continued fear-induced regurgitated life-denying tradition be overcome?
where does the money go that I send to those in need? if we have so much why do some people have nothing still? why do I feel frantic when I first wake up in the morning? why do you say you are spiritual yet you treat people like shit? how can you say you're close to god and yet you talk behind my back as though I am not a part of you? why do I say I'm fine when it's obvious I'm not? why's it so hard to tell you what I want? why can't you just read my mind? why do I fear that the quieter I am the less you will listen? why do I care whether you like me or not? why is it so hard for me to be angry? why is it such work to stay conscious and so easy to get stuck and not the other way around? Can I be with a lover with whom I am a student and a master? why am I encouraged to shut my mouth when it gets too close to home? why cannot I live in the moment?