Wake up, because your dreams are only temporary
Sleep, because in your mind is a sanctuary
Lay down, because in your passiveness burns a fire
Stand up, because there will be a spark of confidence
Quiet, because in your silence plays a symphony
Sing, because music is life
Whisper, because someone is listening
Shout, because some cannot hear
Reach, because something lies just beyond
Retreat, because patience rewards you
Climb, because you never know what is at the top
Fall, because someone will catch you
Embrace, because there is always something to hold on to
Let go, because there is always more
Understand, because knowledge is power
Ask, because it is better to know
Listen, because you crave enlightenment
Speak, because wisdom is meant to be shared
Trust, because many accomplishments come with help
Never trust, because even your shadow leaves you in the darkness

The farmer and his hands
His family and his crops
Tending to his lands
'Neath gentle water drops
Bereft of all worries
He works from night to day
Back and forth he hurries
Feet to mud and clay
When his jobs are done
He donates fruits of labors
To each and everyone
To town and to his neighbors
While gray and clouded skies
Beckon forth more rain
He's in his fields of rye
Harvesting the grain
He cares not for himself
Before his fellow mate
Putting food on shelf
And dinner on the plate
The callused sturdy hands
The strong and warming heart
He loves his own homeland
And farming is his art

It was on that day that I saw
True love
Burning bright
Like a star
In the caliginous night
Rest softly upon the sand
Where I lay
Wondering
Of what could have been
Of what will be
And you spoke
And opened the eyes of my heart
Closed shut
So long ago
By the pain
That my mind harbored
It is because of you
That I am
Free
From my prison of emotions
It is because of you
That I am
Alive
So warm
In your infinite
Embrace
It is because of you
That I am
Alive

Out of the sunlight and into the gray
Into the dark from the light of the day
Into the agony, pity, despair
I prayed to "God" once but there's nobody there

I prayed to "God" twice but he didn't respond
I prayed to "God" thrice but I guess I was wrong
Maybe once more couldn't do any harm
Didn't they say that the fourth time's the charm?

I am a killing time
Burying it deep
In the ground I stand upon
Hoping that it will not
It will never
Catch up with me
Because time degrades
Destroys
I am killing time
Because time would have killed me first

It had been eleven years .
Eleven years since I last saw her.
Her constant incarcerations had me living with my grandmother for the first seven years of my existence.
I remember the nights, years ago, when she would wake me up late and talk with her favorite son.
I remember when she would steal money from us and disappear for months.
The yelling, the violence.
I remember it all.
I remember never having a father.
I know no names, no face, and I don't worry about it anyway.
My grandmother died, and my mother was not there.
Foster care pulled me into it's corrupt embrace, and for eleven years my life knew no stability.
Growing up with no parents, authority figures being those I lived with for a few days at a time.
I grew bitter, resentful, vindictive...
But a mother is a mother...
I saw her recently. I requested it. I put aside all hatred that had grown for her, and I wished to once more see the woman who had given to me the stain of life.
I looked back at the good times, however few there were.
I met with her, and she cried.
All she could say was "I love you"
Then she disappeared the next day.
She died later that month.
Her last words to me were "Oh, honey..."
Goodbye mother. I never got the chance to say that to you.
I hope that one day, I can love you too.

She is slim, fifteen and beautiful.  
Sharp blue eyes that miss nothing, and hold onto everything.
Dark blonde hair resting softly on the shoulders that bear the weight of the world around them.
We sit across from each other and reminisce.
As her eyes meet mine, they whisper some kind of plea, but I cannot hear.
What can I do but continue to smile? Continue to hold her soft hands in mine?
In a moment of strength, I attempt another word, and her fragile glass exterior shatters under the weight of the pain she had harbored all those years.
So falls her veil.
Her body heaves with sobs, and fear lines her incomprehensible sentences.
For one last, brief moment, our eyes meet again, and they are screaming at me, but I cannot hear.
She falls back into her chair, slumps to the left and onto the floor. She dies silently.
She is lying on white linoleum, and those beautiful eyes bleed tears.
The burdens fall from those weakened shoulders, and her penultimate sighs carry softly to my ears.
And she is beautiful.
A beautiful tragedy.
From the ground she arose, where the tranquil winds sought her for the ascension of life into another place, I know not where.
She died beautiful, and part of me died with her.