My Voice

If my voice is captured in
waves that
resonate through the air
in an effort to
communicate something of
who I am and
who I wish to become,
Where do my thoughts go when I die?

We spend hours each day in conversation but we are limited by each breath
to confine our words to the capacities of our lungs.
We temporarily preserve our thoughts for the
eternity of emptiness that awaits.

We stock shelves of compliments only to see them go undelivered,
preserving our words for perfect moments that never appear.

Hoarders of potential, we reserve our individuality
and ridicule the brave few whose dying breaths are not
drawn out sighs of remorseful silence.

Skittles

In my experience, I've come to the conclusion that inspiration strikes suddenly--without warning, and seldom does it wait around for you to find a means to harness it. Skittles ran an ad campaign several years ago where it'd rain skittles and I remember thinking to myself that I'd have to be prepared to grab something to catch all those candies before they touch the ground. Inspiration is a lot like those Skittles, and it seems I repeatedly find myself off guard when it starts to rain.