Haughty Sphinx, whose amber eyes
Hold the secrets of the skies,
As thou ripplest in thy grace,
Round the chairs and chimney-place,
Scorn on thy patrician face:
Rise not harsh, nor use thy claws
On the hand that gives applause—
Good-will only doth abide
In these lines at Christmastide!

Past the graveyard down the road,
Lives or dies a man out cold
Every minute is a burning desire
For him to feel there's nothing higher.
Hope he knows is also despair,
The lie of the land begins to stare
Every minute is a burning desire
For him to feel there is nothing higher.
Will any hand rise from the many dead?
Maybe it's time to be quiet instead
Breath continues no more so
The dead is the living let the dying grow
The man with nothing in him to feel
A sorrow or regret meaningless to conceal
Yet every minute is a burning desire
For him to feel there's nothing higher!

It stares,
It glares,
It hovers in the air,
It lies,
It cries,
It makes happiness die,
It's the evil eye.

the thing is,
we've all waged war on ourselves.

we've all been warriors against our
own body,
our own mind,
thoughts.

we've all told ourselves
that the things we create are not good enough,
that our hearts are not strong enough,
that we are so small compared to this sinking earth,
and we could never do anything about it except
scream and scream
from someplace high
until someone hears us,
saves us.

we've all torn
our bodies apart
whether it be with our fingers,
guiding razors, scratches,
adorning our precious skin with
purple bruises,
red slashes.
whether it be with our state of
mind,
shrinking ourselves,
pitying ourselves.
whether it be the
acceptance of heartbreak,
and the un-willingness to let it go.
we try to find salvation
in tiny, bitter pills,
try to find love in our medication.

the thing is,
we've all held battlegrounds within ourselves
and we're still so unkind.

we've been a shelter for ****** genocides
of creativity, and
we've held car crashes
of broken trains of thought,
in our screaming and thrumming mind.

we've held bombs within us,
exploding, shattering inside,
lodging us with
painful reminders of what it is
to be human,
alive.

the thing is,
we're all war veterans,
with both hidden and violent scars
from fighting
the lethal battle that is
raging within.

and that's okay.

just know
that you will win someday.

Just where have those bullet proof arms gone?
The ones that held the back of my head as it rested on your chest and wrapped around my back
with my body partially spread across yours
The arms my memory will always chase through the imprints of your vibrant precence
Never neglecting to reflect on the smile-
The eyes that were filled with such strength
Bravery I could never explain  

A diligently beating heart
against an army of thieves
Gone in a winter’s night-
With the stars we dare to adore

too soon for words
too late for thought
Reflections of the good fill us now and forever will

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro