Feel I do
Feel like a serial killer at times
Fingers of mine tensing
Carotid arteries of an analogy
Squeezing warmth out of dead bodies
Of psalms into
Saying a prayer
Even though I'm agnostic
In case
And drastically overstating my case
Tasking a metaphor to
Gasping last breath blue
On the edge of a cliff
Just push over
The blood of the simile
Dripping
The flesh
rotting dead on a rock
The dangling dread
circles above
Overhead like
Vultures
I do

The child cut up paper into feathers
A headdress
Another into feathers for a turkey
And the Indian child told the truth
Wept
And his tears were taken like the waters from his ancestors farms
To feather a white nest of
Lies and harm
Today the harm has
Been shrouded like the sun
Behind darknesses
And the native wanders
Alone
And truth cannot stop
The black cloud lies
From darkening
A legacy
Or the forests dying
On horizons
Of tall white
Concrete
Fallacies
Or the proud indigenous
Bearers
Passing into
Dream
Like shadows
In the trees

Let your word
       Not be wasted
             In the ears of stubborn
      Let your silence
             Silence  the noise
        Of ignorance and negativity.
                      be still
           Is to be at peace with  yourself
                           Know your worth
                                      Trust the process
                                                 Stay in faith
            create the future you ought to have
                                              And where you ought
                                                                ­To be.

Love, Sorrow, Joy, Pain, Beauty, Loss, Peace, Hatred, Hope…
All a part of life’s grand design, and if you have felt them,
then you have lived life.

When there is one, there is always the other,
always a balance so to speak.

But what if, what if there was more,
love, joy, beauty, peace, hope…

I dream of that, although it is just a dream.
I still dream of it!