I remember when i was a kid i had a power rangers mech toy
It would stand mighty at 2 ft. Tall and i absolutely worshipped it.
It was but a cheap plastic toy but to my young and impressionable eyes it was everything
Cheap joints were to me freedom,legs... The courage to move forward with my life
Its cheaply made speakers that was drenched in white noice. A voice
I remember it all and even as an adult i miss my toy
It was taken and thrown away without my consent or approval
Many nights passed were spent crying with no success in sight
Now here i am as an adult but just as lost and confused as i was as a child
If there is anything i want to tell you, it is that you are not a toy
But i am still as desperate as ever to recover what i have lost
Sobbing and crying alone like a child.

Wouldnt it be nice if every one smiled
And everywhere was filled with laughter
And there was singing fairies as far as the eye can see
Wouldnt it be nice if everyone joined hands and sang kumbaiya
Whatever thats supposed to be
Wouldnt it be nice if everyone had a snuggie to rap themselves in and we would change our name from humanity to snugmanity
Well im not too sure about that one but while im at it
Let me go over some other nice things
Poetry is nice too.
Because if there was no poetry id have a lot of answering to do for all this sitting around
Puppies are also nice with there huge adorable eyes and there funny internet videos
The last chip in the chip bag or the rest after a nice workout
A good nights rest or a daughter named clever
Over eating and games and wasting time and arguing
Its all nice in the end because life is too good to pass up
And in the end there will be nothing to regret. just happy memories
But let me tell you the truth More important than any life lived or memories made
It would be nice if i could be found in a hug lost in a smile

As i shuffle down the street on my way to class
My eyes shift back and forth for any sign of motivation
Some cosmic sign from god
Maybe the sun hitting the trees or the grass flowing
Eventually my eyes meet a lonely can on the road
What a lonely existence this can had lived
To have been loved and cherished and used and discarded
Maybe what i see in this can is a reflection of me...
No its just a stupid can and it will be nothing more than that
But, What power do i have as a poet. I am the god that inhabits this world
And my word is etched into the soul of this paper
I can assign life to any object i please and take it away just as fast
Or atleast until i realize how bad my last idea for a poem was

The echoes of a whisper came from an incorporeal dream.