Those who agree argue.
Those who disagree do not.
Our actions are what we speak with;
Our words mean naught.

A word takes a whim,
An action takes time.
One we have in plethora,
The other in finis.

And thus they are valuable.

The lights they shine,
The sounds they roar;
They form a net above me.

A longing glance,
A wistful hearts;
The sunset fades away.

But friends they laugh,
And songs they soar;
A manufactured joy.

Yet all the world we make;
All the love we share;
And on a dark night,
It makes one happy.

A bear sat upon a mountaintop,
And there he contemplated life.
A thousand nights he thought,
A thousand days he slept,
Until he had a thought
For each star in the sky.
Himself he considered a star too,
As old and wise and special.

One evening a young squirrel
Bounded up the mountain.
With a leap and a chatter,
She said to the bear:
"When I was born you sat here;
Now you still do.
What have you done in between?"

"I have thought," the bear replied,
"Until I have a thought and a story
For every star in the sky.
I have lived a thousand moments
From here on this mountain."

"I have lived a thousand moments too,"
Piped the squirrel.

"Nonsense," the bear snorted.
"I was here a thousand moments
Before your coming."

"But how many did you live?"
The squirrel jumped to and fro
With formless jubilation.

"Quiet, squirrel!"
Thundered the now-annoyed bear.

She froze, then peeped,
Ever-so-quietly,
"You were here,
a thousand moments before me.
Is this moment one-thousand-and-one?"

The bear chuckled now.  "Yes
Dear squirrel, now I have lived
A thousand moments and one more."

"That's where you're wrong."

"DID YOU COME HERE
JUST TO PROVE ME WRONG?"
Again thundered the bear.
He rose and swung his terrible paws
Through the clear air.

"No no no!" screamed the squirrel,
Now frantic.
"I have lived a thousand moments
and you have lived a thousand moments!
I came to see what yours were,
Because they're so much longer."

"NO, you are wrong."
The bear came down on all fours
And put his face in front of hers,
Teeth staring like soulless pearls.
"A moment does not change.
I have lived more, not longer
Moments than you."

"Ah," muttered the squirrel,
Creeping backward before
His awesome teeth;
Then she fled outright.


When safely out of sight,
The squirrel stopped, composed herself.
"Ah," she repeated disdainfully.
"I went to you seeking answers,
But you have proven to me:"

Age does not bring wisdom.

Five of us sit together
Four are boys
Three are gamers
Two are sick
One is me

An angel and a dog sat on a ridge.

Sun set before them;
Cloud stretched from earth to heavens;
Wind came up behind them;
And tousled their fur and feathers.

Said angel to dog,
"You lucky creature of earth.
You never made a choice,
Never had to doubt,
Never bore the burden
Of knowing what life's about."

Replied dog to angel,
"You lucky creature of heaven.
You got to make a choice,
Got to help a man,
Got to soothe his pain
As I but wish I can."

Said once more the angel,
"Of words of thanks
I have been deprived;
Yet you are scratched
And given rawhide."

Replied again the dog,
"Those same hands of man,
That pet and pacify,
My brothers sadly learned
They can beat and vilify."

Shouted angel at dog,
"Consider yourself lucky,
That body is all they mar;
You cannot even fathom
Torturous souls lost to dark."

Evenly dog to angel,
"Am I not of creation?
Am I not creation speaking?
I suffer the blood of my grandfathers,
And of my grandsons.
I know naught else,
But this I know completely."

Snidely angel in retort,
"I see suffering of thousands6—
All the world to lament;
Your grandfather and your son
Are not even a percent."

Somber the dog,
"And you are not an angel,
That is most evident.
Of your choice you live now,
As you died then.
Please leave me now this view,
And my destiny to man's kin."

The angel dropped to the raging sea below,
And flopped in the snow;
In rage he threw the hailstone back,
And before the tempest flew.

The dog sat a while longer,
And admired the peaceful scene;
Till a call came from the woods,
And he sped back with glee.

Hello, poetry;

Into thine eyes I ne’r hath gazed,
Yet tales of awe to me are raised
Of glor’ous minds and rich essay
That rise above the ‘net’s dismay.

So let me join thy hallowed ranks,
And I will sing my grateful thanks
With works of art that raise thy creed;
You won’t regret your present deed.

I find that paper lends itself
Excellently to flow of thought;
Far better than keystrokes and light.

A screen blasts its presence forward;
Takes what is does not possess and
Flings it into our tired eyes.

Paper takes what it is given
And dutifully holds it close
Until decay does to it part.

Like a soldier brave and hardy
It values its charge most highly
And gives up its life before it.