What do you do up there
on your podium so high?

Do you ever falter, or cry
at the witnesses story?
Or do you just listen
to all the details,
may they be ghastly, fearful, or gory?

Do you feel for the accused
or ever sympathize,
with a ******
who gouged out his own fathers eyes?

Yes, what happens
in your mind
in that podium so high?
Is it a of chess
when the witenesses atest?

Do you care for us,
do you sympathize, or
do you live up in the sky
in your podium
so high

the thaw of the ice
is a sad goodbye,
a parting gift from winter
to spring.
the gift of growth,
of flowers pushing their way up
to inform us:
spring has begun

the moments,
the time it takes to get somewhere,
are like cracks in a sidewalk.
plants grow in the impossible here,
pushing there way to the sun

Tears roll
D
     O
           W
                  N
my face
goodbyes roll
                  O
             U
        T
my mouth
and my arms
W               P
        R   A
around my friends

Do you care for me?
that question
puts a weight on my lungs,
and sends my head reeling for an answer.
One I don’t find, instead
tears of confusion pull me to sleep.

I find myself doubting,
getting lost in moments between words.
My hands shake
in time with my heart.
Sometimes I let things fall
because I hate the tremors.
Sometimes they rattle through,
my whole body.

Please, one question
do you care?
or am I desperate and lost?

energy cannot be created or destoryed,
is violence bound by that as well?
or is it a chain of
equal and oppisite reactions passed*
from person to person.
abstract in glances and words,
but becoming tangible in a fist or a kick.

please let my agression stay abstract.