As the singer sings his last tune
And the last dancer vacates the ballroom
The forest's divine string their bow
Preparing the hunt of evil, hate, and woe
In the air are sounds of grinding teeth
And swords are drawn slowly from sheath
Out of the trees extends a shadowed glow
While in their guts, the uneasiness does grow

The parliament speaks with the gnashing of jaws
While the public stands impatient with sharpened claws
For the prophets to sing them another lie
And the puppets to dance it's truth to their eye
While they stand idle for their ears to be fed
The rebelled divine load an arrow of blackmail and lead
With sights set upon the political beasts of Nations
Tonight, the hunters will over-step their station

Where does curiosity cross the line?
When did searching become sublime?
Your shifty movements all the time
cause me to search for what you hide
Is this paranoia, or am I fine,
'cuz these chills I have run though my spine
only happen when you are online

Hiding your screen so I can't see
keeping you cellphone away from me
deleted messages after I plea
new accounts without knowledge by me
What is this, who is he?
I know he's a friend, but can he be
who you think about other than me?

Is he over whenever I'm gone
Tell me I'm crazy, tell me I'm wrong
prove it to me, 'cuz I'm not that strong
the composure I hold is only a song
but it won't hide my anger and sadness for long
Why so secretive, tell me whats wrong
I need to know before my paranoia is drawn

I love you so much to do what I do
but how can I trust with these things that you skew
Searching your phone and your social accounts to
silently straining when the phone rings too
hoping to prove my fears are not true
Left to decipher if I'm crazy or if it's you
While praying my paranoid mind doesn't shine through

We are

Supporters
Romancers
Outcasters

And we speak to the minds of

the Many
the Few
Them
You

Well versed, Poetically penned

words that touch any
emotional brew
spinning mind's web
figuratively true

Mindful heroes, masters of pens

war changers
heart wrenchers
Nation founders
generation movers

We are the poems
We are the poetic
We are Poets

When they say 'Winter Wonderland'
which winter and from what land?

Is it the one from the North?
where the temperatures are low
the snow is heavy and the icicles grow
The frost covered windows works to ensure
you'll stay inside with hot cocoa and a s'more
Where toys are unwrapped and then put away
to be used on a future warm spring day

Is it the wonder of the East?
Where the snow is light and wet
and the thermostat reads 'cold', and yet
bonfires in the fields and roasted marshmallows
and picking the last petal on a rose mallow
to be place on the wreath hung on the wall
made of remnants of memories of the last fall

Or could it be the wintery West?
Where the locals are wearin' sweaters
as they play in the chilled weather
where the stiff, cool breeze creates a shiver
across houses decorated in gold and silver
as people come to visit family and friends
and dream of staying till'  summer's end

Or maybe it's the wonderful South?
Warm and sunny all year round
where Santa stays when not suited and gowned
where the fires stay lit, but only for effect
outside, off of giant couches, families defect
and shaken snow-globes provide the only snow-filled day
So where, pray tell, does your winter wonderland lay?