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Skyward Sep 2020
The messenger must be ready
To pack his bags and leave.
He will not cling to useless weight,
His message is too sweet.
He will not stop to catch a breath,
He cares not for his needs.
He runs to tell of what he knows
— A poet with his feet.

The soldier stands in shining mail
And seems, of men, the best.
Because he stand on guard all night,
The citizens can rest.
He has no need to question if
He’ll pass the final test.
In bravery he'll meet the foe
— A poet with his chest.

The farmer tends his crops and reaps
The produce of the land.
He plows the field and tills the dirt
According to his plan.
His yield, year round, is sustenance
For animal and man.
He helps the tender seeds to grow
— A poet with his hands.

The scholar can by careful thought
Reveal the source of rain.
He takes a youth with passions wild
And makes him wise and tame.
O’er books and notes he slaves all night,
Our hearts and minds to train.
In gold he never found his wealth
— A poet with his brain.

The poet fills a simple verse
With wisdom to the brim.
He feels within his breast that beauty
Is his closest friend.
Where does the humble poet fit
Among these noble men?
The poet, with his measured words,
Is all these with a pen.
Skyward Aug 2020
Water, water everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.
People, people all around,
Nor any word to speak.

The vastness of the ocean blue
Alludes to greater things.
The pleasures offered by the crowd
Are never what you think.
Skyward Jan 2020
I fall into a thorn bush
As my map flies
From my hands.
…What state am I in???
            They’ve trained you, soldier:
            Look around,
            Take stock.
            Are you bleeding?
            Does it matter?
      Grab your things
And get up.


I walk into a Walmart
As my memory slips
Through my hands.
…What state am I in???
            You've moved again, brother:
            Look around,
            Take stock.
            Are you crying?
            Does it matter?
      Grab your heart
And get up!
                                                     .
Sometimes the most insignificant moments of life, no matter how different they are, call out to one another, and we feel we must have been there before.

— The End —