Pluck: Poems

Nov 7 · 31

Pluck Nov 7

While depth is added to my humanity, my individuality withers.

The parts of life I despise most, are just mirrors.

Our politicians only repeat what we yearn to hear.

Man correctly imagined the economy, then incorrectly imagined he could steer.

I guess, pandora boxes were never designed to be closed.

How could we with 8 billion? humans can’t be controlled.

To hate the music is to hate the consumers I love so dearly.

To run from technology is to flee from those I want near me.

I love people, breath, and life. I hate how we do It.

We all in stand in front of a mirror, unable to see through It.

Oct 10 · 216

Missing Poet

Pluck Oct 10

Missing Poet

Jiggling the key in her normal routine, his wife opened the door to see his pen resting on the pad, his tea complete with every sip.

Not a word on the pad. A sign, firm evidence, a symptom, confirming a poet is missed.

Absence of words are greater than absence of man, is a poet truly living if he doesn’t write?

The woman stood still processing the sight, gaining a roommate having lost her husband that night.

Apr 15 · 29

Belief Chief

Pluck Apr 15

Belief Chief

Belief is an itch that urges you to scratch deeper than the surface.

Imagination and dreams are God’s chosen method to present before us our purpose.

For how could anything that doesn’t require faith ever be exciting?

Greatness is just like a destination wedding, few make it though a myriad were invited.

My beliefs drove me to madness, but, anger is something you only feel when you’re certain you’re right.

One cannot be one foot in, one foot out, Delta only makes profits when there’s a full flight.

Those who think they do, are the ones that belong.

In my head, I’m tormented by one single song.

“I believe, I can. I believe, I will. I believe, I know my dreams are real.”