I am the ceiling fan

I am the ceiling fan,

circling fast, but remain in one place.

The white noise it emits imitates 

the neverending thought process.

It spins up high, alone from the rest of anything. 

Everything is what I aspire to to be.

It is a lonely thought, one of selfish characteristics.

Built on the wishes of good intentions.

It's hard not to spin and twirl with ideas of something closer.

Though closeness is what I feel wherever we are.

You are the mount that holds me steady as I spin, spin, spin.

My blades can cut deep.

Electricity is a fuel that recreates itself.

I'll never slow until someone cuts it off.

My mind is the motor, creating movement.

The dust are mistakes made along the way.

14 degrees

And at this frigid Denver hour,

I am simply grateful for a warm home,

a safe home, blankets and a bed.

Thankful for four walls and heat,

a pillow to rest my head.

Thankful to share it all with you

in this place we call ours.

Accept

The music notes float over to my ears.

The Christmas tree flickers out of focus as I write, as I recall 

the chaos in a world that moves quicker than ever

on the other side of the window behind me.

There lies the anger.

So. Much. Anger.

Capitalized by those who know what fear becomes.

Taken in by those who don't.

They live among us, uniformly uninformed, almost proud of it.

But the anger. Why does it exist?

Accept. Accept. Accept.

Except to accept, for some, is too painful, confusing, anger-worthy.

Will we learn? Will we learn we must always learn?

It is, by far, the only way to live, to progress.

In a world where only God can judge, we champion the art.

It is easier to include, to think outside the box.

It's easier to love, to laugh, to...

Accept. Accept. Accept.