every day we plaster
a smile upon our face
to hide the inner turmoil
with a polished grace

every day we chatter
we pass each other by
every day we laugh, we smile
every day we lie

we ask: "hello, how are you?"
breezily we reply:
"I'm fine, thanks and you?"
we say: "very well, thanks, goodbye"

there's one thing never mentioned
one thing never spoken of
it's a guilty secret
the thing that he calls "love"

silently we suffer
our voices never heard
quiet as the midnight our
we never speak a word

mouths forever shut
speaking out is forbidden
constant anguishing
the pain is always hidden

quietly we learn
to live with all the fear
forever terrified
we push away all we hold dear

silently we fight
forever marching on
step after step
towards to breaking dawn

we hold aloft our swords
composed of shrieking light
to pierce the darkness
of our persistent night

as we wage our battle
our voices ring loud and clear
the silence is ceased
and we will share our plight for all to hear

no one should live in darkness
so I will let my story be
a catalyst I hope
to set my silent sisters free

Skin and sand
Swords that stab
Babble away at the point:
An inarticulate wad
Of
Confusion and lust
Dissatisfaction and trust
Or distrust
Or apathy
They all feel the same to me.
The floral pattern of your pillow
Is imprinted on my jawline
The last mania
The last game of trivia
The last time I felt something
Skin and sand
Are the only things I demand.

May hide the tears on dropping rain
A thousand swords in heart with pain
And the winters ice has gone...
the main thing is hope ,my son

And waite the twilights game
Of bleaking moon and sun,
The game of love still playing...
Tomorrow never die ,my son

May hide the tears on dropping rain
A thousand swords in heart with pain
And the winters ice has gone...
the main thing is hope ,my son

And waite the twilights game
Of bleaking moon and sun,
The game of love still playing...
Tomorrow never die ,my son

The choir girls on rooftops sing
songs of thanksgiving in
harmonious gleam
while the children dance
in vibrant gyrations
underneath the olive trees.

A fire burns while people cheer and chant,
and folk songs flutter like ash.
The sparks fly as burnt wood collapses
and the king takes his throne.

He addresses his court
with eager voice
that echoes across the fields
and all eyes and ears are keenly fixed
on his majesty.

He speaks:
"My people, my friends,
my enemies, my lovers -
from all lands far and wide -
will you open your eyes
and see your live like this?

There is no bloodshed or death
and I can see your lungs expand with each breath.

Now, please fill your cups
with the strongest of wines
and let music ring
with the loudest of chiming.
Let peace fill your souls
and love cloud your minds.

Lay down your swords,
pax et concordia
for love is the strongest of wards."

When do you say you have done enough for today?
How do you hold yourself when you pray?
I don't know your answers, nor what I would say!

This though is where I would go to a rocky place called a cleft,
where His Spirit has not yet left and an Eagles wings covers,
this rest, high and away from the world.  Not so I could look
down, while trying to fit my perfect crown, nay it is so I
would catch my breath and breathe the peace that passes
understanding, so when I went to be in that world which is
demanding, my conformity , I would say "check with Him,
the Higher authority."

Oh I can stand on my two feet, swords of words on my lips,
seeking peace, seeking peace, His love does eclipse, all I have...
to give, be at peace, be at peace.

Thomas O’Keene, like most little boys, imagined great things when he played with his toys.
In the big room that he shared with his brothers, he would make a big tent with all the bed covers.
Inside his great castle, he  played and he dreamed, of far away places and fabulous things.

He played giant robots, who came from the stars, with swords made of lasers and dinosaur cars.
He’d pretend to be heroes from his video games, who ate yellow flowers and then shot out flames.
Thomas told tales of all that he saw, like the one-eyed stink monster with the big yellow claw;
a creature to others unseen, but was always around when Thomas ate beans.
Or how purple aliens had taken his juice,  it was to fuel their invasion, of this he had proof.

His mother would scold him, “Thomas stop telling stories.” How many times had she told him?
She sent him to bed, and away slunk poor Thomas hanging his head.
It was only ten past eight, and he never got to stay up late.
Then Tom had an idea; he knew just what to do. He’d show them that all of his stories were true.
He would build a machine, so they could all see the wonders known only to he.

He found a box, some stinky socks, parts from a clock and a few small rocks. Some peanut butter, a toy boat rudder, a number 2 , his brothers shoe, and about two bottles of school glue, a broken video game controller, wheels from the baby stroller, some batteries from the remote, a rubber ducky swimming float.

He pulled and stretched, pushed and vexed, hammered and rammed, and screwed and jammed.
Finally complete, though not very neat, he sat down for the start of his job and slowly turned a big red knob .

But nothing happened. What could be wrong? He didn't know why it wouldn't turn on.
The machine was no good and this made Thomas sick. Frustrated, he gave it a kick.
The machine came to life. It shimmered and whined, and gave off the faint scent of pine.  
Then there was a rumble that shook the whole room along with a great big kaboom!
Thomas covered his ears and shut his eyes tight, and what he saw when they opened was quite a strange sight.

There crouched down in his room was a giant robot from an alien moon!
Then right beside it, as big as a could be, was his dinosaur car the T-rex X3.
But this was not all that came from inside the machine, other things began to be seen.
He had done it, they were all here, in his room so perfectly clear.
“You stay right here,” he said with a cheer.

Now he ran to get his mother and father and brothers to show them that these were not make believe others.
Then he heard a loud crash that came from his room.
He stopped in the hall and then came the boom.
Thomas rushed back and found a smoking hole in the wall almost 10 feet wide and 8 feet tall!
His robot was gone and so were the others, and then he heard  a call from his mother.
“Thomas, what was that noise?!”  Thomas thought quickly. “Nothing mom. I'm just playing with toys.”
“Put those toys away and get back in bed!” was his mothers reply to what was not really a lie.

Thomas was scared and didn't know what to do.
How could he fix this, he was all out of glue.
Then he saw a blue crayon and snatched it up quick.
He hoped this would work,  it must do the trick.
On the cardboard box side he scribbled "reset".
then drew a big circular button pressed it.
Thomas held his breath and thought as he did.
Why oh why had he not built a lid?
He waited there silent for a moment or two,
then opened his eyes and just saw his room.

No holes in the wall, no great robot man,
just bunk beds and toys and the lamp on it's stand.
He looked down before him and beheld his machine.
"Never again..." thought Thomas and went off too his dreams.

A jot, a blot is all I need
To give my thoughts their sweetest deed
I swing and swirl this loot of ink
As letters dance to what I think

Think not and write you cannot do
Like Napoleon to Waterloo
For what is war but a loss in wager
A broken truce in a piece of paper?

Papers shrink and end in bins
As writers make their painful sins
But how can that be not far better
Than to hallow one with a price much greater?

Greater than the boldest force
And the many knights in their battle horse
Is a gobbled pride left sealed in wax
To unleash the sheep and kill the fox

Foxtrot to the endless seams
Of choicest words and inner hymns
Writing is a hundred twice as fun
And safer than a loaded gun

Guns may pierce the human flesh
But words hit straight a person’s chest
For what it’s worth, a mighty mortal
Can fall to such a force as equal

Equal to a slash of sword
Is an ample dash of pointy words
A blood spill sure can end a war
Don’t you think a pen can get that far?

Far and near are distant words
That pens can glue but not the swords
For I can rule the world and sprout a seed
A jot, a blot, is all I need.

I'm building myself a fortress
a tangle of bricks and mortar,
deep in the forest where you can't find me.

There are spikes on every window ledge
and a deep dark moat full of monsters,
and I'm inside the darkest room,
visor down and armour shining.

But all this doesn't matter, you wont attack with force.
The armour is useless and the walls will crumble down around me
without the help of a siege.

Because you don't need to find me,
you've already kidnapped my mind,
I can put up no fight
and so
memories well up and spill over.

All I can feel are wounds made by no swords,
empty places that ache to the bone,
armed for a fight I've already lost.

You disarm me so completely,
all I can do is surrender.