As I am beholden to myself to find peace amidst areas of angst, eyes close for a silent song of a diphthong that goes “loi, loi, loi” instead of “la, la, la”.

If thoughts wander or fray or break, meditative breaths weave back together mind’s fragile fortitude with both heddle and mettle.

Then, somewhere between a sinistral lean and a dextral tilt, a halcyonic hello is inner-heard, a rock upon which my serenity is built. : )


Bad seeds grow too, but into who?

Will they sprout a cullion engaged in ambitus or will they grow empathetic kindness plus?

Roots are strong or roots are weak.

Then, midriff tall or midriff meek.

Is it axiomatic what will bloom, whether salvation or whether doom?

How we start is not how we end; light rays all no matter where they bend.

That growth is change is life’s benefit—for any can bud good whose soul is love-lit. : )

J. P. D. T.

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