Pale Flower

A love poem.

Pale Flower

The moon could shine,
and fail when reflecting your skin.
The petals of a rose,
could look dilapidated against you.

If I touched your face,
will it's fragility shatter under my touch.
Would I be left holding air,
wishing your form lay within my arms.

Your delighted laughter,
has enthralled my senses.
But when I whispered your name,
would it fade into the wind?

I long to feel your heart's beat,
to hear it fade into mine,
and melt into placid warmth.
A utopia in comforting embrace.

My fingers could thumb passed your chin.
Laying in quiet prayer,
in hopes you wouldn't crumble
beneath my entropic caress.

The moon stares in contemptible envy,
its reflection upon the water.
Casting hateful eyes,
it weeps in jealous rage.

If rain fell against your visage,
could I wipe the tears away.
Might I shield you from the moon,
keeping your mirage to myself.

Your pale reflection spoke,
that the bodies on the horizon cried,
craving for you to return to them.
But your voice spoke no.

The glint in your eyes,
put stars to shame.
Stolen away in my arms,
we can disappear into the night.

But as I felt your warmth,
your features faded with their decadence.
Please, don't away from me,
just let the skies wait a minute longer.

What is Human

I wrote this to highlight the struggle with changing ones social role...among other things. It is a view on being a human, and how life is fleeting, and too fleeting to be wasted on climbing ladders.



What is Human

Born in the flesh we die in,
we can't change ourselves like suits.
But surely we change our minds,
as frequently as we change shoes.

When lacing all laces,
strapping all straps,
please realize, life isn't a two faced
nor a sickly trap.

From diapers to canes,
finger paint to forgetting our own names...
we lay searching for a reason,
from the cradle to the grave.

E plurubus unum,
is a confusing lie
that leaves us with a fleeting sense,
we belong with eac hother until the day we die

Regardless of past deeds,
we will always bit the hand,
that reaches down, gifts, and feeds...
only to anger when we have naught.

To the dark we all gather alone,
searching finitely for meaning.
But meaning is the same, despite what we believe,
we are merely searching for life's sweet reprieve.

Sands Mask Democracy

I asked a question to people, "What is Freedom?" They gave me answers that only reflected in the fact that they do not know what freedom really is, nor understand what it's like to be stripped of it. TRUE, I do not know personally, but I will not take my limited freedom for granted. "THEY" represents...well..a lot of things.

Sands Mask Democracy

What is freedom?
Can we believe the callous lies,
that taper the wistful dreams?
Children grow into hypnotized zombies.

They sit behind desks claiming peace,
yet flags still lay in smoldering remains.
The ashes were danced upon to the songs of hate.
Detracted wills, spread ignorance.

Soldiers occupied a foreign land.
Their remains boxed and package,
like the mass producing machine.
Boxed and shipped out, their return broken.

Orphans asking for food,
go ignored beneath your skyscrapers.
Money can buy weapons and flashy comfort.
Glass and metal built on tears of famine.

Did you forget the look in their eyes?
The ones you trampled upon,
reached up with agonized looks.
They were kicked down by your militias.

Body armor dispersed instead of bread.
The value of full bellies less than bullets.
Shell casings lay riddled in the earth,
starving babies crying for food piercing beyond gunshots.

Oil shipped in barrels,
drained from the earth in a wake of bodies.
The lifeblood of war sought more victims,
as the rich grew richer, lives became less plentiful.

If they refused to take from the needy,
they were branded as traitors.
A collective clouded greed in democracy.
Intentions are only as good as what you can take.

Overthrowing tyrants masked new dictators,
hoping to grub in black gold.
They toppled regimes with expedited promises,
yet sons return in caskets.

We all know the mission is completed,
people fearful to live are truly at peace.
Uncle Sam's guiding hand has ensured freedom's march,
as he lined his pockets black.

Daybreak

I have kinda gone back to my doomsday style writing... mah b. I have been working on some hopeful nice things, but the words haven't come together just yet.


Daybreak

The night rises against a stark back drop.
Spare them the excuses and justification.
When the bombs fell,
there was no such courtesy.

Children cried at their mother's breast,
begging for the scraps of nourishment,
and being fed by resignation.
Their bellies are bloated, hunger for truth.

We are enslaved,
by the repetitious cycles.
Vicious fervor they all cried,
"Torment, Torment."

Feet wore blisters as protection,
from the ground of mines
that brought embers to their pilgrimage.
A journey without peace.

Shelter was the comfort,
that was found within the lining of a coffin.
Powerlessness lay at the wife's feet,
tyranny as a widow maker.

Equality put heads to a stake,
their mouths screaming for atonement.
It's always so fair to everyone,
save some, more fair than you.

Crumbled schoolhouses,
where children no longer played
were left to corrode in the sand.
A new era of ignorance on the horizon.

When the sun finally rose,
shown only the smoldering remains of hope.
A silence that rolled hush through deserts
once alive with temperance and faith.

Tears were all that was left to shimmer,
in the burning sunlight.
Scathed by the brightness of luster -
innocents disappeared into the glare.

The Pariah

Yes, I wrote a new thingy ma jig. I hope someone enjoys it or not, who knows~


The Pariah

Spare me your partisanism.
Your sectarian egocentricities,
are insignificant cries of martyrdom.
Understanding is a truth you hope to hide,
kissing self worth with blind faith.

Like red ribbons,
your tears are shreds of duplicity.
Your path is crossed with scapegoats,
the lambs you lead to slaughter.
Is faith the satire you hope to masquerade?

Awash in the glow of sacrifice,
a self preservation shielded by shrouds
forged in the blood of pilgrims.
Where are the chains that were meant to bind you?
They are shackled by victims of trust.

Asking for forgiveness is the final betrayal.
Do you believe God will forgive holocaust?
All of the tears fall to the salted seas,
the final resting places of conviction.
Is redemption truly a lie?

You decried your creed,
stepping upon the bones of certitude
as the fade into irony.
All of the glimmering stars,
fell like the ones you lead into sunset.

You may abhor adjudication,
but is it fearing the same judgment you passed
upon those bowed in prayer to difference?
Lies are merely hidden truths,
and even the blind will one day see.

Idealism is the cover story,
utopia is easy to believe in
when death is the release to paradise.
How many machinations must you scheme,
before you pass your own sentence?