Life is as fragile as truth.  Certain but, too easy to mistake, it is egg shell thin and thinner yet.  A simple membrane, where a guard screens atom and molecule…………. There is much strong talk about ending lives.  A great power is believed to be possessed by stopping a most fragile thing.  It is life, simple and direct, unmistakable until it is gone………… We see the boast of protecting our innocence, by obliterating others whom we have come against.  Other lives just as fragile and just as simple.  In such talk there is no recompense, only the promise of shattered shell and broken bone, but these are not alone………… They come with decimated lives and hearts beyond stitch or hope of being sown.  Life is so simple, it never comes or goes alone………… Life is as fragile as truth, we seem to know when old but not when youth.  The takers of innocence cannot abide this truth, nor the life they lost someway, when most tender youth…………It is Love we end in honoring hate, a last chance to know its flowered gate.  To try and make amends, lets forgiveness flow.  Life cracks open its shell, lights illumination streaming out.  Love shining everywhere in a total rout.  It is what truth always was, all about………………………………………………………………………..    


Today at the border, I planted bulbs. I noticed a few daffodils coming up.These new bulbs will be a surprise to my companion. We still have some verbena flowering. They continue to spread like wildflowers. Now they are all over the yards.In the desert, gray rainy days can mean big excitement for gardeners. You have endless energy, then notice you may need more compost, or plants. Gardeners can be greedy about growing.Just in case you were not aware. In the desert some “weeds” sprout in winter if you have a few wet days. They will hunker down nearly invisible for months of warm, dry spring and hot summer weather until the counted on monsoon season arrives. Depending on the amount and timing of the rain, they may become small little inch plants or sometimes some many feet tall.End of nations edge report.img_0423.jpg          


We are under chemical directivity

they are what we are, you see

DNA winds environment and history

but to us it is a blind mystery


In youth the chemicals

turn our eyes into shape envy

we see things old now differently

when the spiral ladder so decrees

time for that chemical dance; 1,2,3


They find our signature stuffed indifferently

scattered way out in distant Milky Way seas

suitcases floating spectographic identity

islands the same as in you and me


Chemicals have liked to claim a soul

as in love they are able to do so easily

for how has so much exact serendipity

so much perfect compatibility

come into we to be?


Some might say we chemicals

are on our own doubt indefinitely

Ideas, just happening to appear to be

found near hydrogen and oxygen’s

tide bound Mother Sea.


We live in what we call reality

and every part would need to be

purely coincidental culpability

which seems like purest improbability

that formulas would change perfectly

with a puzzle fit to unveil this diversity

all from the same redefined energy.


Chemicals are typing

this tales on-line plea

vibrating string theories

quarky quantum quintessence

M-brane theory

I feel my ego head swells

with idea based encephalopathy.


I dream of friends

in gray simple rain

I am closer to love

when nearest to pain

I am just like you

you have your own name

but how unique are we

we do not type the same?


Words make us as one

but who is it to blame

when a coconut holds its future

its open shell, the rain.