I am a man locked in a cell,
Not a slave; not a free man.
I am trained to fight, trained to ****
A man trapped in hell.

My cloths are simple and *****,
And the food is tasteless, bland.
A bowl of slop, is all I get,
That is all that is put in my hand.

I am trained to fight to stay alive,
From hour upon hour.
Until I can hardly move a muscle,
Or until I can hardly stand.

But I will be free one day,
To live the life I deserve.
To fight for freedom, and my right to live,
To put my family first.

I died to save the people from slavery,
And my bones were burned to dust.
But I live on in history,
My name is Spartacus!!

Sheila..

We grow up thinking that families
are permanent, and that our parents
will always catch us when we fall.
But what happens when they fall?
No one prepared me for that.

We grow up idolizing them, seeing
them as heroes who can do no
harm or injustice. But what happens
when they become the villain?
No one prepared me for that.

We grow up watching them put
on a strong front, never shedding a
tear for our sake. But what happens
when they come crying to us?
No one prepared me for that.

We grow up watching them forgive
us over and over, loving us unconditionally
all the while. But what happens
when we must absolve them?

No one prepared me for this.

You taught me how to hold my head high,
Walk with lightning at my feet.
For every lesson you’ve instructed
Helped me better now to see.

In words, I see such clear precision,
You’ve taught me well to read them so,
And kindness I am ever seeking:
Kindness so my heart can grow.

Instructed in the ways of wisdom,
I have sought that growing tree.
For it was you who told me stories.
By my hand you guided me.

And now the day has come to thank you,
So I give my humble words.
I build the path now: brick by brick,
And know I’ll never be deterred.

So even if the Sun is covered,
Even if the winds do blow,
I’ll use this day to thank you greatly,
For the gifts that you’ve bestowed.

Silence
Broken with a scream

There were signs

A twitch of the eye
A snarl of the lip
A look of despair

Hunger

I ignored them
It was so easy to see only the veil
Watch it dance across your face with each saddened breath

And the silence grew

I did not hear it over the crickets
And the wind
If I had only listened
I would have heard it howling louder still

And it grew
The invisible pain
I felt you drift, willingly

So that when you screamed
We cried out together,

I am alone in silence!

The world too damp for the truth to ignite
Our words too loud to hear
You turn

I am alone in silence.

we were just children, innocent and free
passing the time underneath that tree
boundless giggles and secrets shared
trying anything that our small limbs dared

you were a bit odd, but so was I
with you I cold be anyone: a hero, a spy
but something in you was never secure
of our friendship you were no longer sure

slowly the tree began to sway
that tree under which we would play
the leaves began to fall one by one
as our bonds were carefully undone

I kept faith, but you never could
and so that tree became nothing but wood
but there I still stood, looking at a graveyard
thinking that I could still keep guard

then I realized the bitter truth:
we are no longer the people we were in our youth
so you can have your friends, and I'll keep mine
and our roots will not again intertwine

and maybe the tree will grow anew
for different children, whose friendship is true.

The battlefield is a canvas
splats of red,
dead bodies,
weeping young warriors,
painted by the devil’s paint brush.

The battlefield is a garden
red roses,
blue British,
maroon mustard,
purple parapet,
the thorns of war.

The battlefield is a crib
the cloud of lead
like a blanket
that covers the soldier at night,
smothering him to death.

Guns, weapons,
innocent beauties
manipulated
and overworked
to do the devil’s deed
until they over heat
from despair and plead.

A spaceless canvas of a beautiful dream
Spaces to see and spaces to dream
Myriad and countless in thousands they seem;
Distanced thoughts of an uncertain kind..
The swift strokes of a finer self
A breast of pain and the womb of death..
The Rampant search of a timeless man,
The Mystique brilliance of a madder dream..
Clawing to lose a searchless path
The Maya of me and the Maya of death
Spaces and spaces myriad they seem

To stand alone and To view apart
An un-poisoned brightness of a fewer whole
froth-less waves of a mid-life's depth
kindled flames, a rocking boat
Spaces and spaces to me they seem