Sitting in buildings of marble and glass peering at a farmer trying to plant a seed. From ivory towers and the seats of power, they strain and twist their brows. Looking over the farmers shoulder should he put too many seed in a row. With law degrees from prestigious universities, they bark orders and spit out edicts as though we were peasants. With no one to check their power, they lock up honest citizens and throw away the key, for daring to pick up a lost Eagles feather. In their world they pose as God raining down edicts and fiery sermons on how the average person should live, all the while demanding blind obedience under pain of over bearing regulation that can bankrupt even the richest of men. While all the time they are yet human and when one of the elites should stumble and make a mistake, there is no accountability no matter the damage that is done or the lives that are ruined, while rivers run yellow with waste. They toast themselves as being concerned and all knowing. They are the EPA.

why o why
is it so hard to find
a woman who hates me
and wouldn't mind
if I we're drunk
and incoherent

why can't i find
someone to be miserable with

Why can't you
be as
hopelessly in love
with me
as I am
with you?

Will you ever be,
or am I
a rock waiting
for the sun
to make
me a star?

Some people feel their pain with grace.
Some people swallow their emotion and let
It claw out of their chest with an exquisite
Spray of blood and a melodious sob.
Some people wake every morning,
Sure that they are alive because their heart
Is adorned with the scars to prove it.
Some people are a pretty kind of sad.

Other people are brutish transformers.
Other people quietly inject their toxic pain
Into their bloodstream and wait for it to run its course.
Other people work every day to sweat it out,
But never quite feel clean enough.
With clogged arteries, other people explode.
Their pain takes their power and other people
Break things, break people, break love.

In hiding you will find only danger;
There is never anything beautiful about anger.

i have made myself
a slave
to my own deranged mind

i have prepared
my own funeral
the corpse is mine

i tried
many times
to save you
to the point
i couldnt save myself

the spirit
is only dead
i am too late

love was
my drug
ending my
nightmare so effortlessly

my breath
is now rejuvenated
in my process
of constant healing

i have been broken
many times
at the seams

to the point
healing is
unattainable


but the partition is
once again drawn
and a new era
has only begun

(b.d.s.)

Our storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage,
A stupid calm, but nothing it, doth 'suage.
The fable is inverted, and far more
A block afflicts, now, than a stork before.
Storms chafe, and soon wear out themselves, or us;
In calms, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus.
As steady'as I can wish that my thoughts were,
Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines there,
The sea is now; and, as the isles which we
Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be.
As water did in storms, now pitch runs out;
As lead, when a fir'd church becomes one spout.
And all our beauty, and our trim, decays,
Like courts removing, or like ended plays.
The fighting-place now ******'s rags supply;
And all the tackling is a frippery.
No use of lanthorns; and in one place lay
Feathers and dust, to-day and yesterday.
Earth's hollownesses, which the world's lungs are,
Have no more wind than the upper vault of air.
We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover,
But meteor-like, save that we move not, hover.
Only the calenture together draws
Dear friends, which meet dead in great fishes' jaws;
And on the hatches, as on altars, lies
Each one, his own priest, and own. sacrifice.
Who live, that miracle do multiply,
Where walkers in hot ovens do not die.
If in despite of these we swim, that hath
No more refreshing than our brimstone bath;
But from the sea into the ship we turn,
Like parboil'd wretches, on the coals to burn.
Like Bajazet encag'd, the shepherds' scoff,
Or like slack-sinew'd Samson, his hair off,
Of ants durst th' emperor's lov'd snake invade,
The crawling gallies, sea-gaols, finny chips,
Might brave our pinnaces, now bed-rid ships.
Whether a rotten state, and hope of gain,
Or to disuse me from the queasy pain
Of being belov'd and loving, or the thirst
Of honour, or fair death, out-push'd me first,
I lose my end; for here, as well as I,
A desperate may live, and a coward die.
Stag, dog, and all which from or towards flies,
Is paid with life or prey, or doing dies.
Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay
A scourge, 'gainst which we all forget to pray.
He that at sea prays for more wind, as well
Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell.
What are we then? How little more, alas,
Is man now, than before he was? He was
Nothing; for us, we are for nothing fit;
Chance, or ourselves, still disproportion it.
We have no power, no will, no sense; I lie,
I should not then thus feel this misery.

In a quiet place surrounded by tall fences in view of inviting shade trees, I sit down with my hands deep in the dark earth arranging a bed of flowers. Each one is different and yet in some ways the same. Each has it's own color and fragrance, yet all need water, love and sunlight. Weeds must be plucked up so that the flowers may blossom. All of the plants bring me joy but it requires work to help them grow. Some flowers are only for decoration and others have a special use. They may bear herbs for cooking or be used to make someone well. As in my garden so it is in life. People need encouragement and care in order to develop and grow. If we each take care of others as I do my garden, then all people could live in harmony and what a beautiful place the world would be.