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Vilene Joubert Apr 2011
Binne d vlgde 20 min verjaar jy ~ jy word ouer ~ nog 'n jaar verby ~ waisted! Or so it feels! Ma net vi een rede... Its another year I did not spend with you!!! Jys my love at first sight! The love of my life!! And I'm not there wif you!!!! Ek hoop mt my hele hart ~ jy geniet jou aand! Weet net ek sit hier ~ en **** an jo wens ek was daar saam mt jo!!! Happy birthday!!
Paul Hardwick Mar 2012
I love shopping for music online.
I always do.
I love the way they say to you.
If you like Beyonce, then you might like Pink.

Would it not be nice.
If all life did that.
After ten pints down the pub.
The Barman says to you.
If you like ten pint in this pub.
Then you might like a kebab.

Then at the kebab shop he says to you.
If you like ten pints in the pub then a kebab.
You might like a fight.

So you pop out, and beat up an innocent by stander.
Then a Policeman shouts at you.

If you like beating up an innocent by stander.
You might like to join the Police!
Eric Angels Dec 2018
Today I was gonna look her in the eye

Tell her she's the reason why

When I fall, I fly

But then I saw her, kissing another guy

And realised I've been living a lie
Amber Blank Dec 2014
The world wants to condition my heart
To conform my soul into a blank slate
Molding with experience and disappointment
Gradually shaping until it is frozen in stone.

Motionless, empty of emotion
Paralyzed by society
Left to view the beauty from outside
Through jaded and cynical eyes
Never allowed to experience depth of love I so long to feel

Cursed to be a by stander
Constantly searching
People watching
Longing, yearning for fate to step in
Waiting for what seems like eternity

Slowly sculpted into a statue of my former self
Void of color
Drained of hope or inspiration

All the love stored away for that "one day" is gone
Frozen in ice
Cold to the world
Resolved to dwell in my prison of solitude
Away from betrayal and lies
Never again to feel
Letting no other soul close to mine.
josh nunn Nov 2013
I sit and wait, sit and wait,
And watch the ticking clock move to his slow and constant rhythm.
The rest is a blur, the people around me, the pen in my hand, even the hieroglyphic symbols on the blackboard seem to fade into an incomprehensible nothingness...
All I see, all I hear, is that clock.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
It grows louder and louder until everything is consumed by that mechanical monster.
My ear drums are about to burst, my eyes are watering, I don't want to miss a second.
And as if the church bells are singing my daunting, dreary lesson is complete and as quick as a one-night-stander I collect my things and bolt for the door...
On to brighter horizons
Who needs maths,when you've got English anyways.
I hear we're doing poetry today.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
funny... there was just one man,
riding a donkey
into jerusalem...
      no horse in sight...
but then it was
rekindled via pearl jam's
  vitalogy song: this is not
for you...
and yeah, pigeon grooving
that rhythm...
alongside the four horsemen:
a cabernet sauvignon,
a sagrantino,
   a merlot,
& a tempranillo;
****! i can't remember drinking
red wine... it feels
like injecting dentistry's
  anaesthetic!
  faaa faa faa-ing ton-nahmin';
yeah, and they thought
the three camel-jockeys
were a big deal
  at the birthday bonanza for
primary school children...
why do atheists love christmas
carols, and call
the cantos of templars something
racist?
        i hate christmas carols,
but play me some templar cantos
or byzantine chants of monks
and i'm pumped up
into an emotional crusade...
that's why i find richie dorkings
so unappealing...
       mind you, apart from the fact
that i haven't been confirmed...
seriously? christmas carols?
  you got to be pulling me a daft
joke...
      i take the cantos of crusaders
as seriously and as the same
bounty of beauty as a muslim
might receive from receding into
an adhan...
funny though...
the wahabi mantra within
ideological demands would ban
the adhan... i.e.: no music,
                                no singing!
too true abdullah ibn isaac...
    start speaking it, end up like
the catholics,
       with that satanic-sounding
mantra of corinth...
           you keep mumbling that
indeed, when said rather than sung
the catechism becomes
a satanic by-stander...
  **** me, the evil-elven stark-naked
mumbling mantra...
         it's worse than a bunch
of bees lodge inside a seashell...
the sea? what sea? there's no sea
invoked, only the demand for
the hive and the queen...
personally?
   i have more respect for
          khadija (the first wife
of muhammad, and the one who actually
wrote down what the madman
was insiting /
                an ode to older women) -
than i have for the "******" mary -
to me khadija is an epitome -
  but she was already swearing and cursing
rolling in her mummy cloth of grave:
when she read into the deeds of
a man, who took too many liberties
              after her death;
yep, and muhammad was promised
72 lashesh by this lass;
to me? khadija overshadows maryam,
and look how she's treated...
     ******* moozoos, moozoos...
slavic slang term for muslims;
i despire atheists who appreciate
christmas carols but disregard
the cantos of the templars,
like i despise muslims who give
no credit to khadija for penning the first
surahs of the koran;
once more: last time i heard:
            he was an illiterate orphan!
so who wrote the first surahs?
                                               mr. blobby?
wehttam Jun 2014
Friction into reality; I should say into fiction into life.  Small beads form on the upper lip,  Shoes strings become untied, a bottle is cracked as the ship leaves it’s slip.  Fret and cascade escape a troubled brow.  A boat builder an architect leans smirks and shifts toward the end of the pier.  The wake presses a ripple across the bay’s cloudy shiloutte.  Mooring lines tighten righting an unballasted keel.  Its crew makes up chalks and moors with figure eights and half hitches.  Take up slack and pull with the boatswains command.
Captain, Executive officer, and first mate critique fit for crew and evolution.  

Pea coats smocked, boots weather sealed with wax, glove, slacks, hat, and pants.  Stores are stacked and awaiting brow and chain gang.  Rations and stores for 4 weeks.  The harbor’s main berthing finds vacancy at the vessels underway taking.  Bow to stern aspect three hundred feet washed and clean.  She has a 9 foot draft with another 22 feet to the first rail.  

The lines in the boat shore for a nimble light sailing ship.  A clipper maybe,  I’ll wait to report further direction possibly assuming more command.  A cigarette falls from my first *******.  A jostle to my left crafts seagulls posturing a stolen meal.  Sulfur stings my nostril igniting the first of two puffs.  The captian rolls his eyes my direction gives the once over finding his intrest in the rest of the evolution.

A few pier hands set eyes on the clipper, smoking.

Mice run along the wooden edge of the pier away from some of the salted pork and grain.  Two other mice lose courage at my sight line.  XO and first mate shift and turn retrieving my concern.  The brow is being landed at the stern of the ship.  

No decals and no name yet.  At some point Ill find or ask to be apart of the ships crew.  Deck hand, cook, messenger, helmsman, assistant to first mate all compatible with ability.  The first mate chuckles and mentions a figurative by stander knowing that an employment opportunity starts with a  conversation.  

Crew’s first leiutenant for the most part looks squared away and a bit untouchable, salty.  Pants tucked into calf high boots, a beard, pea coat and a lost stare.  Hesitating a bit he grins and settles back to appropriate conversation.

My bag and jacket drop accompany to the stores.  Maybe a slow patient walk aft, there has to be a name for her.  At the stern a marching movement to my right and I can follow the rear of the boat and in peripheral the command group.

The Lion’s Winter in large old English print below a iron clad window pane bounces with the tide to the left and right in a roll.  I can see the ship, now calming into a quiet slop off of the pier and its mooring lines. The rudder is a massive distorted key shaped piece of poplar with copper piano hinges all the way to the back of the keel.  A small blue crab lengthens a breast stroke across the top of the water.  

The three follow the appropriate custom before crossing the brow and the first louie barks a few times.  Two of the ship’s crew begin inventory on stores while a bit of nervousness creeps over the contents of my only possessions.  Wetting my lips I can taste the salt on my face.

One of the crew yells,
“Louie, move him off.  He stump’n around the grub.”
He barks again,
“Turn two.  Got more an him eny’d, a Rat!”

I took that as on opportunity to introduction.  Mr. Louie straightened pursed heels and drained thought from my façade.  His eyes narrowed, he felt the calm of my urgency.  He knew I needed, obliged then walked to conversation.  “Cryme's, you look’n for someone.”

“Humm, a shipmate.”
I could see the it was not the conversation he was expecting.  He leveled, “Pretty tight around here. What do you have in the bag?”

“Mostly books.”  

“You cant cross the atlantic reading books.”

Sharply understood in sponse to kurt, “Is that an opportunity or an intrest accompany to nothing.”

“You can naught cross the Atlantic.”


Tim says leave the world.  I laugh and he says no righting, laughter.
The first chapter
Maria Etre Dec 2017
I watched a live band
yesterday
my stomach churned
against its empty walls
digesting emptiness
and simply
feeling human
....again

With a voice
so mellow
it mesmerized
hypnotized
the murmurs
to a silence

A marriage of strums
carried feelings
embraced
every stander
with a certain warmth
that reaches the heart
I heard my friend say
"they make fall
in love with myself"
how delicate of a statement
to float amidst
the dark space
dancing with their voices

Something pure
was taking place
and as an audience
we have longed for
such a feeling
so foreign
to carry us a bit closer
to our very core
reminding us
that it's possible
for a heart to smile
to prove that
innocence does
still exist

"Who are they?" I asked
"Waynick" she said
Waynick: means "where are you" in Arabic

Waynick, an indie folk band from Lebanon, consisting of Sara and Joe,  Nick, Yvan and Cyril.

On their first meeting, Nick showed up 2 hours late; his phone battery was dead, as he helplessly looked for the rest of the band (hence, the name of the band Wayn-Nick).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ie2GFiOVGoQ
SMP Aug 2012
You've never touched the sun, but still you wobble.
You've lost your light.
You're barely holding on.
But here you dance, shining bright.
I love my little flower.
Even if I don't love its stander.

I own a million plastic flowers.
My million plastic flowers, sitting on the shelf.

I'm much too harsh on plastic flowers.
The back story on this one is plain stupid.
Happy birthday sunshine
if I may call you sunlight
a wizard alive in our generation
a bye stander of simplicity
and lover of peace

who are you not to smile to flash backs
and unending memory.
if it may rain
let your pain turn to joy
and your worry in gladness
let your smile trade your beauty
and amalgamate your feelings
to be most success.
stand tall amidst cold days
iron your present for a brighter tomorrow
Happy birthday
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
  This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
      This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
                   I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
   do not know how to end you.
Jack Thompson Oct 2015
Sharp thrashes of wind taking my balance like waves in deep tide.
The invisible storm that ravages me,
Where does it hide?
Taken by surprise in a breathless pounding panic.
Like my worlds being vacuumed to a pin hole.
Replaced with blackness in a quick flash.
Then this?
What is this?

It feels heavy - more than immense.
I think it's positive...
But it's hard to tell - its far too intense.  
I can feel the source in the distant haze.

Each step towards grows thick and impossible.
There's nothing behind me just black.
I'll step on, following that heart splitting feeling.
There is just no going back.

In the haze something more dark.
A shape, a figure, a silhouette.
How could a person do this to me.
A feeling I'll never forget.

I can only manage to crawl.
A last breath, a last reach.
Just how far did I fall...

My hand sliced through this hazy cloak.
And there it was, as if I'd known it all along.
A woman. I could feel it in my drowned lungs.
Just a moment, a feeling, that's all it was.

A by stander in the wake of your infinitely blossomed life.
Never reaching you.

Just Watching.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
Amber Blank Aug 2016
This soul is experiencing an awakening like never before
Years of straining to please the masses
Decades of being lost in the world of judging eyes
Condemned by every heart she had allowed close
Driven insane by the words that replayed every minute of every day
Relentless scratching on this chalk board of reality
Torture that seemed to be her eternity.

Rescued by the sun
A simple caress of her cheek , the sweet sound
the vibration of his voice
So easily untied the ropes of life that had strangled her soul
Strange stillness has replaced the chaos of her mind
Tranquility washes over her

Peace settles in to take root
As she watches as if she is a by stander to her own life
Watches every inhibition
every fear, every thought of failure
fall away like magic

He is her missing puzzle piece
He is her balance
He is her dream
He is so unlike any before him

She catches her breathe at every encounter
In awe of the man standing before her
Amazed by the serenity he provides
Which to her is the greatest gift in the world
Kody dibble Apr 2015
For Dalton Grove

The only true Grover

R.I.P
The love we find,
All to often slips,
Like wet dew in the morning, the vastness of intermingling thoughts or ideas ,
Stander vestiges we'd often find inside our minds,

Art the form of unexpressed thoughts moving,
Virtually free,
From the unequivocal  frame of design,
Greatly I say we are nothing but apart fallen pieces so lonely and vast without each other's grasping hand dying to be,

Chasing starlight together in the night time air
Oh, how I long to see you so,

Turning times and movements all to divine for eyes,
I see you in my dresser drawer sleeping like a raccoon,
Chasing dreams once lost to the oceans pull,

The heavens though they may be cease to dawn new ideas when,
You cry,
A lonely lullaby,

I've seen things I cannot express come to be naught
Or have fallen short of things I digress to be,

But you my lovely friend are close to thee,
In the crystalline structure I float to your breathe,
And scream of the life that has been put to rest
Just one of the many poems I've thought up in memory of my dear friend Dalton Grove who passed away in a truck accident

R.I.P
Love you forever

For all who've lost
Nakedpetals May 2014
I once thought
eternity was written
across your lips
but really it was
temporary
that was whispered
in every kiss
your words
were loaded guns
and I'm sorry I
had to pull the trigger
if she has the audacity
to try to
love you more than I did
remember to tell her
that she won't ever be able too
our love and the butterflies in
my stomach have perished in the
same fire that they once flourished in
and now I'm burning too
your hands that carried the baby
that now gives me life
will now reach for her
and I think I'm going be sick
I'm going to be sick
the venom is spitting out
of the same mouths that
once sang I love you every day
you thought you had chains
pressing into your wrist
when really the chains
had already been broken
and thrown away
we are both the victims and
aggressors of this tragedy
and no up stander can save us
it wasn't you and it wasn't me
it was every bumpy road that
could never be smoothed over
I am sorry i could never save us
I am sorry we never worked out
I am sorry we even tried
I am sorry I loved you
I am sorry I was the wall
dividing you from happiness
I am sorry I was the wall dividing
you from her
I am so sorry I thought
this was forever
I'm so sorry
                       -k.s
Ken Pepiton Jan 23
Many inputs say Mondays are common,
but one input says this Monday is uncommon.
We are to be the judge of that.

This is the Monday when you appear,
as reader dear, ready to reason with ghosts
amusing each other with wishes doing pirouettes
as angels may be imagined doing on pinheads,
spinning, or kicking in chorus line choreography.

The elderly nobody imagines the scene,
and makes it seem a vision, something seen,
after the finest sieve - pulling pin wires

snipping whimseys, making mites for widows.

------------ The Government's about to change,
wanna bet, whose got money on whom,

leave the room… vacate the judgment hall,
we are all here, to judge me, last call
all the outs are in, all the ins are intimate,

and we have made all the seed we could,
in word and deed, and we chose to leave
the edges un mowed, so critters can live,

when we can understand our own words
and read other languages using them,
these words are as living things imagined,

said and known, at once, in Housie or Hindi

whatsoever we can envision and project,
we may elect to try to do, or we may do
using words alone,
we think as one
mind,
so now we is I, we is not royal,
we is eloheemishical. Us big good being.


Watcher what of the night?

----------------------
Two geriatic puppets duke it out
for the FOOTBALL
News is all reruns.
Making war for pay,
money makes it work,
gotta love it, gotta love it.

Any reason for killing for,
gotta love it, real deal love it,

steal from the rich to become
richer, Lord knows, war's reason,

come now, let us reason together,
let us cogitate clarity of conscience,
with science standing in for knowledge,
the whole truth, once told, whole knowing

all things working together with reason,
for those in the blooming gnosis realms,

where augmented intelligence forms
teams of knowing hidden reconnectors,
citizen band geeks in the olden days
breaker, breaker, let the learned agree,

we lived just in time to see it all work.

In older olden days…
Messages were carried, at current
stretch of the imagination speed, by slaves…

Writing letters was…
different, I suppose, or
propose, positionally different,
sup and pro posals posed as statu'es,
forms of former founders of the orderly
clusters of human compliance called nodes,
junctions and interchanges, whither all roads lead.

Edu-pre-gogy-ology **** bang,
mechanical thinking in the subconscience science
used auto responsively,
finger aiming quick **** experience, wired below
the will, deep down to predator macrophage stage,
running id scans on the ego accepting wedom hero role.

The sole survivor, from ten thousand stories repeated
trillions of times by now, exoterror faces esoterror,

children led to mindless aliegiance to the flag,
and to the given republican form
of labor management,

had the heros of history
had my tools, perhaps sense had been made easy,

but this is the future, tense
I have, for a modest sum, any course of andragogy,
mankind mind leading, post child mind pedagogy,
- repeat not in vain taking my name, say true
- memory for song is long as all that

among canine species, we see breeds.
among human species, we see types, types for tasks,
intuitive doers of certain things magnificently, once

often, relatively, often
in the process of time, unique tasks.
Ever canonical, global and beyond, true wow
Onesies
Single mortal lifespan tasks, centered self aware tasks,
rockstar, base baller, foot baller, tackle, center, guard,

sergeant major, permanent noncommissioned officer,
loyal to the letter, let us assume, a military mind,
holds all response react ready reading inclination
to check for polisemy snuck in under humor heresy,

whose spirit is stirred up when fans are frenzied,

where do the emotions go, after the connection
to the whole aspect of prowess in team leadership
leaves the bubble of we the fans, become me,
alone and unwilling to ever cry wolf again…
-que sera sera
my side won, my times done
being, as a man with no real job,

they pay me for surviving crazy,
that's how this magic pen is driven.

Of course, in the course of human events,
this stage of peace enough and time enough,
shelter enough and sustenance enough,

centering, any whole self requires more knowledge
than had been made plain using words
in agreemental treaty
form, easily entreated,
as wisdoms are,
so you know what the adverse position is, and why
or why not, good or no good, workable or not,
doable or not, whatsover we agree,

as touching anything,
in all the sense ever fit
to touch, the initiates recognosis
sense the essential lies all being judged
in your heart,
gentlest touch, truly superlative softest

Public heart, common stander at the anthem, hoo yah
rah and all, good citizen soldier ever ready, to imagine

your part in the billions of parts is perfect
for one task, Life given, your one deed,
who says? Fate from the exoterica available to boys,
and girls who seem allowed to mind wander, some how

reading children, book reading children, in homes with
gigabit wifi and
dads and moms and
grand parents who lived
through historical moments.
  
Selah, long breathers, long now,
times proof recollections written
on the tables of my prayer's heart,
I prayed for one of the kind that works
instant in prayer, ask and eventually, find.

The process of time, see, seems invisible.
Perfect, facere specifically just right to be you,
dude, man, joker, street wise desert gawker, you

lucky, you live in a world where words are animated,
via actual Starlinking thinking come to pass
in proces of time since I was
preschool, a kid, child from the escaped goat clan,
mindshapers begin at the ******, confusion,
is common enough for first borns, nobody knew,
really, you can imagine, the cravings,
but confusion is not disconnection,
and no disconnect to knowledge
becomes immortal hell zones.

oh, my god, why, and
then, an elderly man with mottled skin,
sun squint wrinkles around slit smiling eyes,
bemusing the unbeguiled
amused at his appearance, a'knowledges knowing

With a re-coknowing Nod, to the east,
we are so far from where stories start forming leaven,
we merely imagine many long unthinkable things,
habits lost in ritual performance, character act-or,

no need to change a thing, that guy, that person,
that could be me, I have done that same dumb thing,
or watched it done while doing nothing
time and again, get lost in genre and find myself
wondering in wonder land
wonder woman world  of my own
imaging, imagining
living words between us, intimate, most in, inest most
crowd of witnesses,
reading right minds left letters better left than right read
clunk chunk
encoded news from the superlative zone, grand canyons
filled with technical debris and useless superlatives
clicks from children who know what discern means
are subsiding,
slipping under the wave,
trending sense first your worth,
before you accept a bid for your attention,
if you know this line of reasoning, having been
this far
before, as a thought, forethought
-breathe knowing now more than ever
knowledge inside intimates attain
to thorough patient word
redemption and restoration to full
polisemy parallel -all el, par excellence, a we
awe
form. Wind shapes form of spirits, tried, true.

Mind thing first reading each letter,
finding the evolved pen much to my liking,
fluid forms meander, and sigh, and sometime,
puddle to ponder surface reflections,
seeing some wishing for simple,
while we all know we are a ways after simple

this is sub-limity. Lowest ever so far. Look around
nothing needs to be secret at the bottom of it all.
If you don't like the style, I understand, some people come with clipped attention spans, gotta love em.
S' busiso Apr 2015
Waiting to be counted . Do i even matter in the world Or am i just anouther person who is just taking in oxygen and depriving someone else of that oxygen. I see people coming and going in and out of my life but which ones count and which ones dont?

With 7.3 billion  people in the world just makes me wonder what i am living for . Does the world even know that you exist or you just a by stander . You only count to your family and friends. Even graves have numbers but sadly whats your number out of the 7.3 billion people that are alive in the world?

Does the fame and fortune make people count more than others?  So what about my brother or my sister living in the middle of Africa who live under the poverty line do they also count in this number of people that exist?

Live the life you are proud of , even if no one else takes notice just know that happiness is far better than worrying who is famous and who isn't.  I am counted because i voice my opinion and make sure i go through each day being happy.

Life is the best gift from God! I am number 4 264 587 188 so what number are you?
#beyourself #icount
Karmen Mar 2016
She went insane
No one knows why
Unsure how
She lost her mind
They didn't dare
Ask her how
She never cared
To tell them why
But deep inside
She wanted to die
People walked by
Ignoring all the signs
Silent screams for help
Unnoticed, & ignored  
She lost hope
To each by stander
She became
Just another
A broken soul
In search of who she really was
And what it felt like to be loved.
NAME Aug 2019
make a difference,
but not like that

express yourself!
but that's contraband

follow the law!
but steal from the teacher
just this once.

reputation isn't everything!
but study, study, study
so we can get a blue ribbon

be an up stander!
but we'd rather
not do anything

secrets and
blackmail are bad!
but we'll fail you
if you tell ANYONE
about this.

be encouraging!
but that's stupid.
you're stupid.
lessthan4pecantofteachersactuallyDOstuffaboutbullyingbutpppppffffffffffffttttttttttttokayAmericaspreadyourlies
C F Mar 2020
I don't mean to pat myself
On the back
But...

I am the sort of person
To hold up a shopping trip
When I spot a small child
By themselves

Which I know is
Morally correct.
However

I am also the sort of person
To pull over the car
When I see a dog by themselves

I insist.
I carry a leash for a purpose.

I can't help it.
I wish I could.
Well...

No. I don't.
I know it would make me easier
But I can't
And at the same time, I won't.

My mother always told me
Being kind is free
And despite the fact that she might be outdated
I am evidence of that fact.

I will stop to help
Innocence
Helpless

I don't want a monetary reward
I just want them to be safe and happy.
So I will stop and watch and ponder
I will step in if I absolutely must.

I can't help it.

Well, technically I could.
I just won't.
Kindness is free.

My mother said so
And she's almost always right
In matters of the heart.

She would wish the same
From a by-stander
Near me.
Jermon Aug 2020
Once you take the courage to own up, that you need to change, once you realize the old cemented fears need to die, you start a fire that does not destroy, but lights a hope so bright, it rages through the empty space that had hollowed the distances between us, and fills it with the breath of a life anew.
To stop being a by-stander by the stage, but a performer pulling the strings of the essence that runs the audience.

Nov 2019

— The End —