The leaves sway in the wind,
While the setting sun highlights the trees delicate tones,
With its pure white flowers and bright green leaves,

The spring flowers have already bloomed and gone,
Such as mother nature  intended it to be,
Yet one tree has remained with a full bloom,

While among it lay the burned remains of its brothers and sisters,
So delicate,
So alone,

The rays of light are just strong enough,
This tree that stands has become a symbol of hope for what remains of humanity,
A white flag in the horizon,

This lone tree stands at the centre,
The centre of no man's land,
With smoke and bullets
This tree stands among a desolate unforgiving landscape,

Today the last of humanity will complete it's goal,
This tree will be the last of what once was,
The only living thing on planet earth,

In the future this tree will stand,
It alone has the greatest responsibility,
To spread its seeds to rebuild mankind,
The tree accepts this responsibility,

But mother nature nods her head,
"No more."
The tree will never bloom again and never shed it's seeds,

The tree begins to drop its seedless pure white petals,
The weightless petals gently reach the dirt without a sound,
Yet the weight of a single petal landing has sent shock waves around the empty world,

This is truly the end.

As we have conflicts with others,
ISIS,
North Korea,
Russia,
And we give a ***** look to Muslims,
We of the far left with a "pure heart" call this
"Islamophobia"
The religious, racist, white supremacist,
Right wing thugs, unconscious, judgemental, ill-hearted, and blind people who say
"Death to all Muslims"
These people who are disgusted by the thought of having a Muslim neighbor,
These people are just as blind as the Germans were when their Jewish neighbors were taken from their homes,
What would we do if we got rid of all the Muslims in America,
Would we put them into camps,
"Refugee camps",
That's what we'd call them,
Secretly behind closed doors,
People would go missing,
Us the people who believe ourselves as saviours of the Jews,
Would **** their neighbors,
Nor would we care.

I want to be a cook,
Not like those ones who follow recipes,
But a culinary artist,
I want to feed a persons eyes full,
With colours,
And designs that would fill their hungry eyes,


Yet I can't graduate high school,
I lack motivation,
I crack under pressure,
I'm passive aggressive,
What can I possibly be if I lack the skills to my dreams

I feel like I fail every time I trip,
I feel like I am being watched by society,
As if I were the victim of a prank show,

Every time I step out I collapse under the pressure of my anxiety,
I cut my hair so every one will judge me with a mask I can finally wear,
While the universe inside that is my identity begins to implode on itself,
As the weight of the masks are too much,

So may the realities of our failures collide as we share our faults,
Maybe they'll create a black hole and every thing we have ever feared will have vanished,

Was the dark painted with careful delicate strokes,

Or was it burned with the intent of creation,
As the ashes formed the dying stars,

Creativity has its purpose on canvas,
It has become a symbol of hope for the broken brushes,

The canvas plays with meanings as critics share their prophecies of emotional understanding,
But nobody really knows,
As the paint and blood vaguely hide the truth,

Only the broken brush responsible for creation knows what secrets hide in the image,
As it's mind will paint what can it's eyes can not visually express,
To understand the image is to understand the mind of the broken brush,

But even that is far more complex than the easy imagination we create as we see ourselves as the creator,
The observer feels enlightened by the sense of "understanding"
If the observer truly could understand the image,
They would have seen the creators own blood used as paint,

The lies that are brought to the table to nourish your family for another day,
There is pride, your wife. The one you hold dearest,
There is Ego your son,
Then there is gamble, your daughter,
And then there is the dog that hates you but loves everyone else,
Truth,

As you sit at the table Pride beams as you tell another story,
In her mind she wonders what actually happened,

You begin to slice the juicy ham of victory perfectly glazed with a hint of devilish intent,
And you pass a piece of ham around the table,
Truth begs but you kick him away,

Next the mashed potatoes fluffy with dreams ,
As the peas come around they fall and Truth gobbles them up off the floor,
A reminder of the money spent on each pea,

Finally the carrots , boiled to perfection with anger and regret,

The room goes quiet as you lead the family in saying grace,
Truth begins to bark,
You tell him to shut up but he barks louder,
You kick him, but you miss as he bites your leg,
You bleed the lies and you cry ,
For all of that effort to feed your family was for nothing,
So Pride, Ego, and Gamble turn to ashes as you pick up truth and walk away,