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Crawling in my forlorn appearance I hide my soul behind these tattered wings Tattered and broken as they are Plucked of light, stained in tears and blood. In quiet despair upon the cold earth Smeared in dirt I crouch upon my weary knees And clutched timidly between my fingers Rests one last jewel of Hope. A single unblemished plume plucked From the silver light of dawn A feathered ray of light from beyond To illuminate the void that has me bound. This precious barb of silk Once lost as I was and forgotten Blazes now to immerse me in radiant bliss To wash away the pain, draw me from the abyss. So now I fade away… My tender flesh removed My shattered wings released My inner light unsheathed… escapes. (c)2004 Joseph Palladino.

You've been on my mind.. Quite frankly, you're heavy. Get off.

Crayons Life is like a box of crayons. At birth, you're given a great big box of them to share and add color to your life. Some colors get used more than others. Sometimes, a crayon gets broken. A Bright color gets snapped in half and tossed in the garbage can, never to be returned. Sometimes you keep coloring. Sometimes you can't. That color was important. Sometimes a crayon is gained, shared between two people. That color might be just perfect, and works great! Other times it's a different shade, but it will make do. But, there is always one color left in the box. Black. It's normally unused until death. It's used to frame the picture. To add the final border to the coloring board of life. Some people use it. They color onto other's pictures with it. Sometimes their own. They use it to scribble out portions of the picture. Sometimes the portion isn't that important. Sometimes it is. Sometimes there are multiple blacks in the box when you open it for the day.. Sometimes there's only one, or it isn't even there. It all depends, really. All depends on the crayon box.