from my book "this and that and everything in between" - https://www.amazon.com/author/rickadamspoetry

each night
when I go to bed
I lay on my side
because there are
knives in my back
and knives in my heart

lying on my back
or on my chest
would only push the
knives in further
and deeper

as if they’re not
far and deep enough

I have managed to
remove some of
the knives and
continue to live
while bleeding through
the open wounds

although I suppose
removing the knives
doesn’t matter
at this point

for every knife that
I remove
there’s another one
or two or three that
are stuck in me

I don’t even feel
the pain anymore

I just know that the
knives are there

and so do those who
stuck them there

I remember who
stuck each knife
and when they
stuck it in

and stupidly I forgave
a couple of them
only for them
to stick the knife
in me again

never trust the hand
that stabbed you
even once

if they stab you
once they will
stab you again

some may remove the
knife and heal the
wound themselves
but this is rare

the majority
if not all
of those
who stuck the knife
in you would rather
watch you bleed to
death than remove
the knife and heal
your wound

yet
I am not
bleeding to death

I am
not dying

so
with that
I shall remove
each and every
one of these knives

if anything
each one of
these knives
has only made
me stronger

if I can
survive this
I can
survive anything

Suffocated by
Our pollution and greed
Our planet cries out
Please, people, take heed!
It's not too late!
There's still hope, indeed!
But please, act quickly
Here's what we need.

Engage (not judge) friends
With informative conversation

Secondly, go vote
For smart regulation

Next, please encourage
Responsible personal choice

And finally, take time
Stop and listen to earth's voice

Everything we see
Is a corruption of the sun.
The inadvertently diffuse trajectories of light
Reflected on a recognizable world.

Standing near the sea
Where horizon is plain and outlying,
Is as distant of a mirror we can be,
Where we can realize the negation of oneself.
That steady line hiding all storms
Is a reference for no reference,
The endless end.

To think occupies the place
Once belonged to sense.
We see, hear, touch,
But whenever thinking takes place,
We become blind, deaf, hypoesthesic.
To understand is to shut and close the world,
But all start with sensing.

Yet, we are so small
That everything we see
Are mere obstacles
To everything behind.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.