A sound was heard at my
A feathered smudge found upon it
There she lay in frightened
A giant knelt... yet still towering above her
He reached out and touched
her trembling heart
Then cupped her warmth
in his hand
She stayed awhile until
she could smile
At the gentle human mystery
This love they shared
is uncommonly rare
She knew she could be freed
Before she flew
she whispered a song she knew
into the gentle giant’s beard :
“I cannot make you happy
You're a wounded Bird like me ―
you must find the strength to Fly”…
"A Bird in your hand
is worth two in the bush"
Come fly away with me...
© 2012 Harlon Rivers
fight war with beauty. fight
evil bloodshed, the sounds of
children whimpering in the ruins of their homes and
the elderly leaving the only land they've ever loved and
the continual struggle to perpetuate war with
beauty. we can rebuild shattered buildings,
torn land, and broken flags,
but i mean the beauty found not in
material things but in our hearts.
fight not with angry slurs and
faces crumpling in careless ignorance;
fight with a full heart that hears the
stories unsaid but written in the scars of children.
fight with a heart that beats not as a citizen of
a single country, but as a resident of the
planet Earth--fight for your neighbor's right
to live without fear, for
this sacred land to know love again, and
for humanity to know itself again.
war's costs are immeasurable and
beauty's worth, infinite.
fight war with beauty and
hate with love
why is it that we never seem to run out of hatred, when all we ever write about and live for is love
Dark age lands, dotted with castles, peasants, and pestilence.
The poets of times of old, revered as bards for their skill.
Instruments a rarity, the feeling to sing even rarer.
Poets and songsmiths sharing common muses.
The color of the endless sky, Trees stretching up and bunching in the forest.
The stories and fables were written in ancient edicts,
Tales and rumors of dragons and griffins,
Songs and sonnets dedicated to heroic knights.
Poets the mouthpiece of artistic expression.
Bards the hands of the instrument,
Allowing the item to sing its song.
And play its crystal clear hums,
Vibrating from its heavenly strings
Let the heat cool down
Erase the thought of razors
Thoughts of meaningless rules
Let us be our own judges
Coz it's corrupts everywhere
Find the best people to maintan
Tranquil atmosphere won't hurt
Only but for the criminals
Let's wipe clean our country
Forget about the past
A new start
Yes, the memories you created
Still, we could forgive mistakes
You've destroyed your name
Bring a change yourself
Put the criminals into misery
Abandon leaders of violence
"Damn the torpedoes!
Full Speed AHEAD!"
So it is we lose our heads
And trust the masses
Whose rabble rise
To stick their fingers
In our eyes.
Freire told us true:
Dialogue must happen;
Time must be taken
To speak Truth,
To hear Truth,
To see Humanity
In the Other.
The hordes topple
In toppling their oppressors...
Still small voices
Stop to listen,
Stop to see,
Stop to think.
We and They,
They and We,
Why is it always?
Is it your thirst for respect
Prove if you can in a better way
Don't bitch about "it's OURS"
Speak if you can
Or hide in the bushes
Don't sneak around killing people
If you really want to be praised
None will do, even your religion
Hell is awake with your deeds
Eat what you want
Don't dare put your hands
in our platters
Real men don't bring hate
Ugly goblins, teach your kids too
Respect people without covers
-you rip up your coffee cups after you're done with the drink just as an excuse to stay and talk longer yet the thought of spending time unchaining your fears fir the red in you to conquer them in groups of 2
-did you forget that you were once an artist who could move mountains into valleys just to brush the snow off them?
-whoever set fire to the blooming flowers you holistically grew in your heart was only doing you a careful favour because you never liked orange roses and now you're watering glowing daises that suit your vibe anyway
-brick walls aren't as blocked off as they seem but the cement keeps them together like the sky is willing to do for you
-stop picking apart the petals on peonies and maybe the stars will stop picking pieces of peace off of you
roses peek through the cracks in your soul, your heart is overflowing with peace but your eyes remain dark brown in the sunset, is it because your flight to italy was cancelled in the middle of your worst year or because the constellations that you kept shining in your right palm; the hand with the zigzag scar from your last rollerblading accident, were given to someone who didn't even know that thorns came with soft petals too
Sometimes the temporary fixes
are enough. If it's the poetry, or the music,
or the red wine that makes you feel
alive, even if only for a moment,
go with it. get lost in it.
having a few moments of peace is
an absolute necessity in this life.
But promise me...
dear god, promise me.
that one day, you will learn to sit
in silence. in solitude.
and there, with nothing but yourself,
you will not find peace,
you will create it.