how do I write about the beauty of the world
when barefoot people pass before my window
in search of shelter

how do I share my pleasure of the birds' sweet song at dawn
when I see faces etched with panic
from deafening blasts of bombs

how to rejoice in love and friendship
when meeting people who could barely save their lives
after burying their loved ones

how can I write with passion of the kindness of the human heart
when I see thousands fleeing from the ruins of their homes
only to face police   walls   barbed wire

true words are hard to find
as said a poet of an older war

    when it is a lie to speak
    a lie to keep silent

not easy

A silent conversation where everything is felt and known
in the soft quite space between our eyes
and nothing but slow rhythmic breath passes from our lips
and we don't have to force a smile
and just enjoy the silence wrapped around us
and the noise of nothing tying us together
in a locked gaze free to be ourselves
without the judgment of sound
and happy enough with being bored of being
and still brave enough to poke around
and dare to be a little more than just be
and finding a connection in knowing
together we are still alone
but there is no need of feeling lonely
because all we ever wanted was someone
that understands they don't have to understand
every little thing that isn't said
because there is often a deeper story in the pauses
between each sound and syllable
and each sigh and moan
and sometimes it is better to just lay there
in the comfort found outside the reach of our skin
and listen to the meaning of why
our hearts are beating beneath our bones
in the silent conversation
where everything is felt and known

Why do we imagine beyond
the realms of possibilities
why do we dream of places unseen
why do we dare the stars to fall
so we may make wishes from their death

and yet do so little with our lifes

Why do we fear the things
of our hearts true desires
of love so beautifully blinding
of life so freely lived
that we make small wishes on the death
of stars falling from the sky

What is this life we live of work and toil
to wear away our years and flesh
to fade away in silent desolation
and grind our bones to dust and sand
and be less than memory of dying winds
wishing on stars that die
so they may come down from the sky

do we do too little or think too much
what significance are we
to the sun the moon the stars
when we believe ourselves confined
to the body of our flesh
and lock ourselves within our minds

that only in the breath of the hour
of our dreams that we can be more than
queens and kings of human misery
and take the shape of any bird
and fly beyond the realm of skies

and what is it to dream of places unseen
from what mind or eye did we dare
to steal away memories that were not ours
and from what imagination did we find
realms beyond the possible

were we nothing more
in what may have come before
lonely stars hanging quietly in the sky
waiting to be dreamt as something more
made out of flesh and bone
and be a home for a heart
that knew the truth
of living out loves true desires

imagine what could be
if we believed in the breath
of the hour of our dreams
and we lived a life
so beautifully blinding
that love was free to live
in its hearts true desire

Angels of death and sorrow
Hold open the doors
At elementary dead
Where children become martyrs
For the pride of men
Who cannot let go
Of their precious right
To arm themselves
To **** with speed and efficiency
And pockets lined with greed
Are more important
Than your hearts right to beat

Please lay down in your coffin
If you must, you can scream
Don’t worry it will only hurt
Until you are dead
We will wash off all your blood
and dress you in your Sunday best
Then bury you under earth
and false promise
With your dreams
Stolen we know too soon
Tell lies in guise of prayers
And then forget your name
So we don’t feel guilt or shame

Deaths head hangs low
as she cannot bear to see
the youthful smiles
she must usher into the dark
unknown kingdom beneath her robes
and what angel can sing
after such a senseless tragedy
if only the hearts of men
were moved by love
instead of ruled by greed

Used to be
Simply
Reading 'riting 'rithmetic
Little kids sat and dreamt
But seems now
Since Columbine
Those letters stand
For running 'rithing react
Quickly to loud bangs
Lock the doors
Hide under desks
Wait for swat
Pray you make it.
Let's thank all the drugs
Given to kids
Since birth when they
Cry too much
Or throw a fit
Thank the NRA
And your on the dole
Senators and representatives.
Thank the mental health cutbacks
In the budget
Thanks deadbeat parents.
Thanks to society for
Making life the things we
Value least.
But hero's and martyrs
Have been made too,
Along with all the dollars
For reelection campaigns.
So, next time your child heads off
For school
Hug the ******* hell
Out of them.
It just may be
The last chance
You ever get
To tell them
That you love them.

Tears scar
my fevered
red face
as I rage
against
these
unites states.

Pillars of pain
pushed to the point
of bullets and
blood stained
t-shirts.

To young,
to run
far enough
away
that day,

Now politicians
send thoughts and
prayers
but that is
much too little
to even be late.

The media
garners
silent stares
of inaction
while anonymous
internet commenters
call grieving parents
crisis actors.

facebook posts
of dividing positions
put friends in
combative opposition.

I would like
to be fair and neutral,
but the roots
run red and deep
as this dark sea of grief
rises from its sedated state.

So,
I keep on asking
how many more children
have to die
before people do
something right.