The long quiet slumber
shatters
with the heat
he summons so easily

My master fire starter.

Building me up
and setting ablaze
She
that has waited long,
           so long
to burst forth -

now,
now,
now,

I Wake.

What stories could journals tell?
What we forget
is that they are not just repositories of words
but also of thoughts,
feelings,
emotions

They are places in and of themselves
Saving these emotions,
stashing them away
so they can be discovered
at a later time.

But the true beauty of these journals
lies within discovery itself

A droplet of water will fall
further
down a curved surface
taking a pale tan color
like its surroundings
It will fall off the surface
Onto the fibers of the page below
Leaving a darkened splotch

More droplets will follow
More tears will follow
As twenty years from now
A thirty-five year old woman rediscovers
the girl she once was.

Vacuous.
A sliver of moon,
Slight but sharp;
A rapier forged in the fire of sin.
Feigned delicacy.
Her minimalism, a pretense;
Beneath it lies her ****** truth.
She dances to the tune
Of the manifold wails of the wicked.
She sings a soft siren lullaby,
Luring the hearts of the weak astray.
Down the path of her legs
To the trap of her thighs,
He follows her beckoning croon,
A wanton plea from her soulless eyes.
I watched as she wove
Her beautiful tapestry
With hideous threads,
Colored red with falsehoods.
And when it was finished,
She draped it over his eyes,
And I knew I had lost him for good.
For temptation had blinded him,
And ensnared his weak heart,
And into the darkness she took him.

The news will say we're suffering from excess immigration
That a rampant hoard of foreigners has fallen on our nation
But truthfully, there hasn't been a native Briton here
Since people dressed in mammoth skin and hunted with a spear

Our language is a mixture of a dozen different tongues
We munch our way through poppadoms, fajitas and fu-yungs
When cheering at a football match, we're infamously vocal
Our teams may be the finest but the players won’t be local

Genetically, a Briton is a multi-cultured stew
With Romans, Saxons, Vikings and the Celts, to name a few
Our national drink is Indian, the Germans make our beer
The TV comes from China and the table from IKEA

Potatoes from America and onions grown in Spain
A multitude of British things arrive by boat and plane
The rain that falls upon our hills has blown from over seas
And with it come migrating birds to nest in British trees

The Royal Windsor family have Greek and German genes
So think about just what it is that being British means
We're stronger with our differences, the best of humankind
Our nation, not an island but a common state of mind