Pure Human

Seldom does there breathe

A Human kind of Person

Vulnerably strong

Patiently ambitious

Beautifully flawed


The intricate imperfections of rawness and truth course through

The veins of a humbled heart

A Human heart.


With Humans, you see,

There lies a certain beauty to all things


Shattered from time


And even love–

Broken things are not unwhole 

And being with one’s self

Is not being alone.


For a Person to fathom the untold beauty of Human nature


Would have to resort to the degrading spiral

Of physicality.

While a Person may have eyes

They can hardly see

And while they may have ears

Not a single Person has ever



For it is but their hands that guide them

Blindly oblivious

Of the ripely blossoming fruit

That grows right above their heads-

Persons and Humans alike


Except while a Person will axe

At the neck of this majestic tree

And shake its willowy, sacrificial limbs

With a basket of cross-hatched ignorance,


For a fruit to give in,

A Human will gently pick the fruit

And savor the taste of life

By wholeheartedly engaging in each

Of their five brilliant powers

Five abilities of endless possibilities

Four of which have died

With Touch thriving

On the decay of the others


But even Human touch

Differs from the touch of a Person

With palms to clasp kisses between

And fingers to trace the outline of warm lips with

And shoulders to sink into the heat of love

A Person knows not of their potential


But rather chooses to surrender

To familiarity

By merely scratching the surface

Of experience.


So find me a Human

That will love and hurt

And love once again

Find me a Human

That will dive head-first into the unpredictable ocean

Find me a Human

That will dance with both the moon and my heart

Find me a Human

That will make me one, too.




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