Folded Paper

Origami Kitten – I have folded myself.

In the beginning,
There’s a two-dimensional,
Perfectly smooth square.
Beautifully flawless,
And pristine.
Then, creation.
The first fold comes,
And it’s no longer perfect.
Creases can be smoothed
And flattened,
But they are permanent.
A skilled folder’s hands,
Add three-dimensionality,
And tiny defects,
Which give it personality,
And uniqueness.
More folds and more creases.
Then, complexity.
Only the folder knows,
When what was once,
Flat and without form,
Is finished.
Able to stand on its own.
Origami is a meditation.
One wonders things,
Like whether we are folded paper,
Creased by Natural Selection,
Until we are so complex,
Our creases can’t be counted.
How many of us ended up,
In the cosmic waste basket?

The Domestic Philosopher

There are many things to wonder about,
Whilst taking all the garbage out.
Like why we throw out so much stuff.
Are we recycling enough?
And what if a truck came everyday,
To take all our past mistakes away?

There are many things to contemplate,
Whilst watching laundry agitate.
Like how detergent really works,
When washing away all that dirt.
And if it’s good at cleaning clothes,
Can it also remove stains on souls?

There are many things that make one think,
Whilst scrubbing out the bathroom sink.
Like whether to get a plumber there,
When the drain is all clogged up with hair.
And can we really ignore our worries away,
If we don’t think about them everyday?

These are the things I think about.
The things I try to figure out.

How come it’s harder to clean up my life,
Than it is to clean my house?

Untitled

Do I have a soul?

I do not know.

We cannot know such things.

But I’d like to think,

It is not me,

But my soul,

That rhymes and sings.

Heart and Soul

I rarely pause to wonder,
Nor do I often ponder,
Matters spiritual.
Such as the soul.
Do we have one?
Is it immortal?
That may or may not be true.
But if I had a soul to give,
I know what I would do.
I’d wrap my soul up in my heart,
And give them both to you.