POEM: How does one count the hours?

How does one count the hours?

In a frozen sandcastle on Time Hill,

whose walls shape to form number 8

like the hour on which the hour hand

is frozen still.

Shall the minutes be counted same?

But too quickly do they swing around.

To ride one is the event of a life,

one minute still, another minute

thrown about.

But a second is a heartbeat,

an imperceptible trace of what it

means to be human. Blood goes

through veins at this speed. It takes

only a second.

How does one count the hours?

In a frozen sandcastle some power cast

in walls with shape of the number 8.

Only when you step back you realize the castle

was an hourglass.

Don't Give in to Despair

I've found myself in something of a funk lately, I've been having trouble finding motivation to work on new content, I've been exhausted from a job that's full of frustrations, and I feel I've been disappointing everyone in my life, including myself. It's very easy when things seem to be going wrong to let those feelings carry you away.

Don't let that happen.

When you screw up, try again. If you still screw up, move on to something else, find something you can succeed at, no matter how long it takes. No matter how seemingly endless the series of failures is, keep working until you succeed. Then ride that success into the next and turn your life around.

Advice is good and well, but not easy to follow. The other day I found myself spiraling into one of those cycles of bitterness and despair. You fail enough, you convince yourself not to try. You stop trying, you never succeed. It's hard to drag yourself up. But do it anyway. Shia LaBeouf that crap and JUST DO IT!

Despair is a brutal master, and there is no quick deliverance. It saps your energy and drains your strength. You become helpless and hopeless. Flip the script. Turn your weakness into your strength. Take what has you down and use it to your benefit. Use your mistakes to fuel your drive to be better. Recycle the ugly and make it beautiful.

This is your life. Achieve your goals, find your way. You've got this.

POEM: The World is a Wonderful Place

I've combed the world

and seen in fortuitous circumstances

a taste of every fruit

my eye could see.

Some were red

and bore the taste of flame or heartache.

They tore my tongue

with every bite.

Some were yellow

and made me feel light and elated.

The aftertaste was

joy in flavor.

Some were blue -

mellow, fresh, and sometimes sober.

I felt like I was

below the sea.

Some were violet,

others green. I tasted them together.

I stopped to test the

fruit of every tree.

At times I thought

about picking only my favorites.

But regardless of color,

no two were the same.

I moved slowly

at first, but soon I found no end.

For every tree I tried,

I saw another.

This garden I'm in -

why, I've only begun to begin.

I was struck by

two thoughts:

That each fruit has a signature taste;

and the world is a wonderful place!