Pain, unimaginable to the innocent mind,
Wracks their bodies at night.
To their suffering, the world is blind.

All of their requests declined,
The guards spit on their humanity with ill disguised spite.
Pain, unimaginable to the innocent mind.

The government tries to keep their voices confined,
As they keep the centers far out of sight.
To their suffering, the world is blind.

Screaming and crying, mothers and children are reassigned
To separate detention centers bathed in harsh light.
Pain, unimaginable to the innocent mind.

Far from the cities, they are trapped behind
Bars of ill disguised jails as they cower in fright.
To their suffering, the world is blind.

Behind their tv screens, the world watches the tragedy unwind,
They watch, sympathizing but not acting on, this violation of rights.
Pain, unimaginable to the innocent mind,
To their suffering, the world is blind.

It's been a while since I've written anything for fun,
my mind has gone to rest.
School has made writing something that I shun,
which turned me into a mess.

I constantly run around in circles,
searching for the right words to say.
I have to try to clear an endless set of hurdles,
as I struggle to wade across the boundless bay.

The bay separating me from my creativity.
The bay separating me from my truth.
The bay keeping me in timeless captivity.
The bay that's taking away my joyful youth.

Someday I'll learn to bridge the divide,
to transcend the barriers that keep me on the shore.
To let parts of me out that I usually hide.
To be myself and never ask for more.

Sitting in this classroom,
silently thinking about,
all the time that I have lost.

Pluma, usted es una burbuja
Yo no le veo mucho pero,
Cuando yo le veo, me hace el dia.
Como una burbuja, siempre es libre,
libre al andar con los vientos,
donde se van.
Ahora, sin embargo, yo no pienso en usted mucho.
Cuando yo lo hago, yo le imagino atrapado,
atrapado en una colección de arte en una casa,
pensando sobre la vida que tenia cuando fue libre.
Pero, todavia espero.
Espero que un dia, va a ser ser libre otra vez.
Libre a andar con los vientos en el cielo.
Tambien pregunto, todavía recuerda,
cuando yo le sostenía en mis manos,
Y después dejando que vuele mientras gritaba con felicidad
porque finalmente, yo ayude algo a su libertad.

Feather, you are a bubble.
I don't see you very often but,
when I do, it makes my day.
Like a bubble, you are always free,
free to ride the winds,
wherever they may take you.
Now, however, I don't think of you as much.
When I do, I imagine you trapped.
Trapped in someone's art collection at home,
thinking about the life you had when you were free.
But still I hope.
I hope that someday, you will be free once again,
free to ride the winds in the sky.
Also I wonder, do you still remember
when I held you in my hands,
And then let you go while shouting with glee,
because finally, I had helped something to be free.

Tragically when I was only five,
my grandfather needlessly passed away.
He was a man with a fierce love for life.

I clearly remember the day he died,
I think it’s my clearest memory to this day.
Even though at the time I was only five.

We played guitar and watched the hours pass by.
Through our bones we felt the chords resonate.
He truly had a fierce love for life.

Sadly he also smoked and drank, and with time,
it killed him but I never saw his ashtray,
probably because I was only five.

We shared the same birthday, him and I.
Together we celebrated that special day
Led by his deep and fierce love for life.

For me, Far-Far was the name he went by.
I still remember his whiskers on my face.
And even though I was only five,
I still remember his fierce love for life.

In this modern age
we have so many things.
We forget what we have