The media report this season is warmer,
The scientists discover the planet is hotter,
While glaciers slide into the sea.

It is the birth of spring,
After a dark, lonely winter,
Yet the warmth is not warming.

In this moment,
The spring in March comes like the summer in May,
Leaving this July to the imagination.

A shiver of emotions,
Ripples from my brain down my spine,
As I wonder of the future.

But as I drive forward with bright blue skies overhead,
The world erupting in the color and life of an early spring,
My worried mind is suddenly soothed.

Yes,
The world is warmer, the planet is hotter,
And there is so much that we must all do.

Yet in this moment, I feel a peace,
Surrounded in the fragrance of spring flowers,
As the warm sun gently caresses my face.

Joy is an ingredient for enlightened action,
It fills my goblet full of passion and zest,
And suggests to me my true motivations.

In this moment, I am here,
One with the breath of the wind,
Dissolved into the colors of the spring afternoon.

In this moment, I am here,
And I am reminded,
To never let despair rob me of my joy.

Photo by Julian Hochgesang on Unsplash. Modified by Justin Wheeler. CC BY-SA 4.0.

The air carries a breeze,
In from the eastward-facing window.
The breeze carries whispers and secrets of the night,
Into the ear, mind, & soul.

A stolen moment is clearly crystallized,
In the cavity of consciousness.
The stolen moment seeps to the soul,
Filling it with wonder & dreams.

The breeze gently carries your essence,
And the stolen moment,
Promises eventually for eternity.

Photo by Ryan Hutton on Unsplash. Modified by Justin Wheeler, CC BY-SA 4.0.

Ctrl+Alt+Delete, wired and tied,
My threaded process: splintering and fragmenting.

Ctrl+Z, nostalgic and longing,
The memory buffer: flooded and overloaded.

Ctrl+F, buried and lost,
The information needed: but information never found.

Ctrl+N, weary and tired,
A new page and new chapter: for a new time.

Ctrl+X, selective and wise,
My mental clipboard: freed from excessive context.

The control we have, digitally finite,
Within our fingertips, but limited to our bandwidth.

The promised digital frontier, hopeful yet anguished,
Two sides of a coin, but can there be a third side?

Life within a binary is never so rich,
The answer we seek is simply the answer we find.

Motherboard, hard drive; CPU, RAM,
Infrastructure built, realities shaped.

Remove one part, replace another,
Expansion upgrades, faulty hardware replacements.

Our modern digitalism is a mirror of our constructions,
No utopia or dystopia; just a reflection peering back at us.

The question falls to you, whether to plug in or disconnect,
Whether to accept a life with both hotspots and no-signal zones.

systemctl stop NetworkManager

Breathe.

systemctl start NetworkManager

Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash. Modified by Justin Wheeler. CC BY-SA 4.0.

one, two
I fell in love with you
Caught me by surprise

three, four
My focus was on you
There was me, you, & the road

five, six
I took each breath
Felt each beat of my heart

seven, eight
I realized Your rhythm
Pulled into Your pace

nine, ten
I became my breath
Centered at Your feet

one, two

Photo by David Marcu on Unsplash. Modified by Justin Wheeler.

I put on our playlist,
Pure poetry to untrained ears.

My heart taken by the hand,
But led back to the Atlantic blue,
Wondering if I am singing your tune?

Will I continue to wait here,
Under the early April showers?

Am I ready to let someone new in?

Which is a lie: darkness or lightness?

Light illuminates all details,
Corners, etches, ink, faces,
The true nature of things is found.

Dark marks the details,
Obfuscates what you thought as truth,
An alternate reality presents itself.

Darkness is a master of tricks,
Or is it the light that plays with the head?
Whose word are you to take?

Where light exposes kindness, gratitude, warmth,
Dark brings hostility, hate, cold,
Both complement and counteract another.

Which is a lie: darkness or lightness?

The answer lies within,
Neither one is entirely true itself.
The secret lies within dawn and dusk.

Photo by elizabeth lies on Unsplash. Modified by Justin Wheeler. CC BY-SA 4.0.

Original annotation: This was in the random parking lot not too far from the Colony Manor apartment. I wrote this in the car.

It should have started with a bang,
But instead of sound,
Only light.

At a window facing out,
I stand.
Willed by a force absent my control.

Keychains jangling,
Steps toward the car,
Apartment lights in rearview.

The wind speaks stories:
of adventure, love, destiny.
My role is but an observer.

Thousand-year winds,
Thousand-mile winds,
Transoceanic drifts.

If you listen and if you feel,
See past, present, and future,
Sift through the fibers of your clothes.

The wind retreats to the clouds,
The clouds alight to sparks.
Rain washes the stories away.

Listen to your own words,
Vivid with imagination and dreams.
Impart your own being to the stream,
And you will never die.

Photo by Jake Weirick on Unsplash. Modified by Justin Wheeler. CC BY-SA 4.0.

I was cleaning out my saved notes on Telegram and found this untitled poem.

To walk a stranger on the path,
A path of former glory,
Filled with fearlessness,
And the structure of a cloud.

The path is the same.
The memories burn like a flame,
Reignited by repetition.
Strengthened by familiarity.

But it is not the same.
Once you were ingrained,
But no longer the same.
The difference is you.

Your own snapshots emerge,
Out of the dark room,
Into the light.
Side by side you can compare.

Colors blend,
Lines blur.
Faces merge,
Age shows.

From analog to digital,
The past stands before you.
Electrons absent from pocket,
Disconnected but immersed.

The classical poet's demise,
Never has appeared so clear.
Turning to cryptic meaning,
As it cannot be explained.

The sun sets on our histories,
But rises anew ahead in time.
Keep close your memories,
But remember one thing.

Do not let them consume your new world.