The earth is robotic,
spinning, ironic,
nothing is different,
nothing makes a difference.

I often infer the truth,
but prefer not to talk to you,
so I will continue to assume,
that there is nothing in common between us two.

Love is a victim,
of a commercialist vision,
of red hearts and Hallmark cards,
Disney movies and lonely bars.

I try not to notice,
but these people they don't know this,
so they walk like they're robots,
smile and make small talk.

I pray that one day,
it will all go away,
that our interests will align,
be not robotic but sublime.

And the earth it will spin,
not on gears but on a whim,
it would all be much less formal,
it would all just be normal.

You need nothing but your smile
no cares, no worries, no style

As we venture out on an escapade
to ensure that our dreams never fade

Walk, talk, laugh and love
nothing else but heaven above

We roll in the clover,
one under, one over

We dare to caper away together
we don't even stop to notice the weather

When it starts to rain, we don't care
we giggle and find some cover to share

Oh, and when the night comes rolling in
that's when we know what this day has been

If but once in a while, we can take a chance
going off to explore in our lover's dance

Then we can suffer the days apart
knowing there's no end to what we let start

When the shy star goes forth in heaven
All maidenly, disconsolate,
Hear you amid the drowsy even
One who is singing by your gate.
His song is softer than the dew
And he is come to visit you.

O bend no more in revery
When he at eventide is calling.
Nor muse: Who may this singer be
Whose song about my heart is falling?
Know you by this, the lover's chant,
'Tis I that am your visitant.

Awakening from centuries of sleep, trapped in a dream with open eyes.

A witness to the horror bore of hateful minds, safely a once beautifully free soul is now held inside.

Waves of true intention seem to bubble at the surface, fighting to escape the hand of absolute control.

Hard is the battle against that which cannot be seen, while forced to follow the rules of a role.

Where the dark dissension breaks the rulers at their core, bright souls begin to wake to view the desolate land.

Once a broken, shattered and divided people, now find the common love for which together they will band.

Never was there ways to stop this wave from crashing on existential shores, never could they stop an open heart from wanting more.

You must begin early
while it is cool and your head clear
discernment, a sharpened tine
probing the rocky darkness
for all things latent and destructive.

Be aware that the velvet sage
of the leaves belies their power
to take over every space, remember
roots burrow deep, anchoring in
fissures we don’t even know exist.

You must delve as close
to the origin as possible
or the **** you think eradicated
will bide its time, germinating
in the still secret ground

waiting for light
to penetrate the moist earth
waking the sprout
who voraciously pushes up and out
a curled blemish

in your otherwise carefully tended garden.

Waking to birdsong and morning's promise,
the whispering breeze and murmuring light
dispels the fog of the evening's gloom,
the shaking terrors of the dreaming night.
Ghosts visit in the trembling darkness
and remain until they are chased away
by a soft explosion of solar hope,
by the advent of an untouched day.
To wake is to make a fresh pact with life,
to attempt to find a new way to see,
to take up the journey once again,
to struggle for another day to be.
Like the helpless moth to the fire drawn,
I cannot say no to the voice of dawn.
  - mce