It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane

I am black, he is white,
We differ in height,
What does it matter?
If the former and the latter,
Assent to the marriage of our minds,
Love in diversity, oh! What a find!
Rather than take a solo flight,
Into a terrain of unceasing plights.

Fairness an aeonian act,
That cleanses a mind’s eye full of cataracts,
It determines the form of my imprints on the sands of time,
It measures the height of my strides, without unnecessary chime.

I am black shouldn’t make my judgement devoid of light and sombre,
He is white shouldn’t make his judgement pallid and lacklustre.
We can weld our hearts, mind and soul together in the heat of flames,
And say no to this untamed monster called injustice which has no one but us to blame,
Because underneath our skin lies the feelings
Of happiness, sadness, anger. Reeling
Us in confusion, fear, peace, guilt, innocence, contempt, love and pain.
Everyone has his or her stain,
Hence we are all the same.

This atmosphere lacks a certain kind of beauty
It's all too low, it must rise to the sky
The night is much too dark for me
I will ignite the fire, I'll bring the light

The sky is too blue, I'll turn it charcoal
The streets, they're far too serene, I'll make them sizzle
The people, too quiet, they'll soon be scorching with pain
The alley is dark, I'll make it flashing white
The wind is too calm, the ashes shall  flutter in no time
My skin, too smooth, I'll  singe it till it's rough

I'll burn this city down until the residue means something to you.
I'll make it all disappear
They'll all finally hear
They'll celebrate today, every year
The day I saved us from here.