I can bear the burden of honesty, I can bear the burden of equality, and yet the burden of solitude crushes me like the world upon Atlas. If I can take the burdens of another, would they be willing to help save me too? We can all exist in this world with personal burdens, but those shared burdens are often held by the people who are at peace. The broken burdens that people have dropped along the way are picked up by another. The burdens of the dead can be found in the hearts of the pallbearers. The burdens of the poor can’t be seen through the eyes of the wealthy. The burdens of those who are hurt are hidden deep in their hearts. Yet I often see through their heart and yearn to help them, but they have walled off their heart from even themselves. The scars of their past burden them the worst making their lives heavy and tight, as though they will become like the stone of their walled hearts. I hope to remove Medusa’s curse from all those afflicted by pain, and I hope I can see through a fake smile.

When a baby is born
When a baby came to into the world
When they came into existence in the true world
They came with joyous sound
Yes people say they cry
Thats a cry of joy
They came out singing for joy
They came out with different tones and musics
The lyrics of there songs is unexplainable
They music only defines happy moment
They sing and dont warry
They propagate and catalyses the happiness of there parents
The only true definition of the music is happiness


Oh the joy of a baby
As they are born
They dont know pain
They dont know sorrow
They dont know deciet
They dont keep malice for people
They had no enemies
They accept there parents for who they are
They dont care if they are rich or not
Tall or short
Black r white
Blind or not
Deaf or dumb
They came out with total acceptance
They are true definition of been innocent

All they know is sing for joy
All they know is smile
All they know is shout of joy
All they know is play
All they know is that the world meant happiness

They dont have any problems
But they are solution to a problem
They solve problem of barreness
They restore joy and happiness to there parents
They dont hate
Rather they love
They dont discriminate
Rather they accommodate
They dont course
Reather they bless the family

As they grow day by day
They got prettier,handsome and beautiful
As they grow
The joy of the family also grow
They sing with passion
They cry out with loud voice
They they cry out saying.....
Describing how beautiful the world is
The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

Sometimes i wish i could turn  back the hands of time and go back being a baby
Sometimes i wish i could go back to my mothers womb and be born again
Just to enjoy the feelings of been a baby
I wish i could turn back the rotation and the revolution of the earth on its axis
Yet all this are impossible
If am given three wishes
First is to go back as a baby
Second will be going back as a baby
Third will be going back as a baby
The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

The serpent slips
into my veins,
and whispers thoughts
into my brains.
I don't know
which way to go.
I am just a nomad soul;
a naked trip,
a change and a chance.
Lay me with your
premade dance.
I'll put my snake
in a cage
for a while.
Touch my heart
with frozen smiles,
drip-drop, dreams,
and similar things
creep into my eyes
as I walk
another way --
some place that is light;
a fading song
with rearview mirrors,
contacts clearer --
I will keep in line,
the velvet and divine;
you are kissing my spine;
Shine with me.
Dine with me.
No more serpent,
only seas.
But, everything looks perfect
from far away;
and I am so close.
Do you hear me breathing?;
a stomach so heavy.
I am a queen,
and you're feeding me.
You found me in the dungeons,
and now I am free.
A wondrous throne
of transformation,
but none the less --
an innovation.
Will evolution
do us well,
or drown us in pity
and other sad things?

farewell to an unnamed river
that flows so rich and so deep
consummate wordsmith 
your waters will never run dry
spinner of mesmorizing tales
lover of tributes and words
kin to my homeland
i wish you well
my never-met, poetic friend 
following you (though at a distance)
has been a pleasure
i wish you well
stay safe, my friend
farewell

Room 1648
Opening my eyes to
The streaming sun light
Stretching my body
In the heat of the day
To the sound of the sea
Seeing
How lucky I am
From the 16th floor
Looking out at
Sweeping palm trees
Stretch of South Beach
Echoes of beach life
Resonating all around me
Feeling the freedom of happiness
Of peacefulness
Finally

Down at the beach
Sand between my toes
The rolling waves washing
Over me
The taste of salt on my lips
The wind in my face
I lose myself in the expanse of ocean
Glistening under intense sunshine
Your depth of care eventually saving my life
Binding us together as husband and wife
Feeling the freedom of happiness
Of peacefulness
Finally

When you've reached the point
Where you can't even cry
And you don't feel anything anymore

It's more frightening
Than the most sorrowful of sorrows
Because it means you've given up

I exposed the flesh on my finger tip,
with my teeth, the blood tastes salty on my lips
not a fit of nervousness I'm just high strung
my brain is sorting through all of the things I'm thinking of

I like that I see your face in all that I do
I don't regret falling in love with you
you can take my hand again, at anytime
no matter if or when you may change your mind

I've been drinking for weeks
in a room where the floor creaks
from my constant pacing
contemplating everything
dreaming possibilities
limits as high as mountain peaks
even though love escaped me
it was just a bloom on a magnolia tree
a star in a galaxy
romantic love is imaginary
love in any disguise, feels the same

I still like that I see your face in all that I do
I don't regret falling in love with you
you can take my hand again, at anytime
no matter if or when you may change your mind

Home again.

I hold the door, and sigh. Holding my axe in one hand,
Orange, white, and red plaid shirt. Chin covered in stubble.
A warm fire inside. My sweetheart reading by the hearth.
A glance up. Her light blue eyes, so inviting.
Her smile.

I enter.
And rest.

"It's good, but maybe you should write shorter," I was told.
Granted this was told to me by a man that believes the word artistic
to be closely related to the word autistic, but I can only assume that riding any
unfamiliar wavelength is terribly confusing, if not immeasurably difficult.

Knowing that you can confide in yourself, whether or not I'm misinterpreting
individual delegation for conscience, I believe altruism to be fundamental to
a person before growth can occur. Unless of course you're writing short poems.
And if you're curious enough to implement apathy, sarcasm is a fine starting point.

They say that if you want to master something you need to perform daily.
Accompany this with the old adage, "Love what you do," and you can imagine the potential.
Mastering an activity with love is transcendent, calm although sometimes piquant.
Passion and pleasure aren't identical, but imagine the potential.

I don't bleed ink.
It has to be an attempt at benevolence, to say that.
Extreme literary pretensions you must have to bleed out.
Writing should have a pulse. It. Should. Make. Each. Word. Count.

Yet, when this man told me that my words are good, but I should keep it shorter,
knowing not if I could or would, I became curious as to why he worried more about
length and not the content and story as a whole. Then I had to rationalize this to myself, and thought: It would be easier to convey words with images, like a film or animation.

But I don't bleed ink,
and I guess I don't bleed popcorn.