I sit in solitude, surrounded by trees
That have been standing for ages untold.
I feel the coolness of an Autumn breeze
That grants a leaf to fall that I hold.

With the leaf transfixed in my careful stare,
I examine its transparent tone.
Searching for answers that could be there,
As if the answers are known.

I wish I might show as much grace
Falling to my demise.
I wish another may take my place
And make Mother Gaia nice.

I wish for transitions
That leave me better than before.
It may be intermittent,
But there might be more in store.

I wish my whispers were as sweet
As rustling, falling, tumbling leaves
That make the world complete--
And without them, the forest obsolete.

Someday this forest may be replaced
With a cattle field a mile long.
Gone with a whimper, without a trace
Will be the leaves I once wished on.

My mind is abuzz,
Like a hummingbird does.
It can't be still,
And it was my will
To make everything so,
Because how will I know
The outer limits of my essence
Without spiritual lessons?
Self-taught, fear not,
Happiness is sought
Through a curious burn.
The lessons I learn
From engaging my mind,
Is that I am not blind
To tuning into frequencies,
And avoiding delinquencies
With each new experience,
Learning to control delerience.
My inner being thirsts
For a gift labeled a curse.
I want to break these chains,
Be more than insane.
I want to be free
To be the real me.
Every great individual
Has ideas that are sensational.
So say what you will,
I will have these spiritual spills,
That shakes where I dwell,
And brings me out of my shell.
I have the right to engage
With my mind, uncaged.
Hummingbirds die
If they are caged inside.

The Vampire is the

Most supreme demon.

The Vampire takes life

Through an invited kiss,

And feels its victim

Slip into the night,

Terrified, collapsing,

As the demon experiences bliss.

I kissed the dying orchid.
My loving intentions dedicated
Towards the withering flower.
I smelt its perfumed essence.
Sent it off with a blessing.

Now the twist hits me.

I feel like I brought love into me.
What I intended to give
To that dying orchid,
Was breathed back into me,
Unintentionally.

I am the breath you exhale
That sends dandelion seeds asail.
To you, a momentary pleasure,
While it gives my life new measure.
You've plucked me from home,
Blew me into the unknown.
I might be a seed under your boot,
My existence could seem moot.
But next summer, when you've lost incentive
In momentary pleasures, no longer attentive,
I'll be in full bloom.
Pick me up, I'll rebound again soon.

Humans are demons to creatures
With whom we inhabit the land.
And the sea of course,
We destroy their life source,
No one is exempt from the wrath of man.

How does it feel to be a monster?
A plague on this fragile earth?
That can't support our greed
Or our irrelevant needs.
Who are we to judge an animal's worth?

To look into an animal's eyes
And say our actions are justified
Requires more denial
Than is my style.
I can't support the way they died.

We treat animals like commodities.
Use them for food, sport, game.
It isn't quite right
To crush them with our might.
The way we treat them is a shame.

So when you ask me
Why I choose this life
Maybe you'll see
Animals should be free
From the human inflicted strife.

I'm underpaid.
If it takes me an hour's pay
To buy my lunch
I have a hunch
I'm underpaid.
Because I'm paid the
Minimum wage.
Why this isn't a cause of rage
Among politicians that their citizens
Are underpaid
On minimum wage
I'm afraid I can't say.
I can't rent my own place,
A problem I can easily trace
Back to my low pay
On the minimum wage.
I hope this is a stage
Because I honearly can't say
How I'd survive if I stay
Underpaid
On minimum wage.
While I can't pay my bills
Billionaires fly around country for thrills
Tax breaks, relax mate,
It's better than giving them to
The underpaid
On minimum wage.
To be able to pay the price
Of things I need would be nice,
But there's no room to play
Living day by day
Underpaid
On minimum wage.
My wages are a joke,
No way I can't be broke
Living this way.
I'd just like higher pay
For minimum wage.

You are the king of a place called my heart.
You plant blossoms in the courtyard of thoughts.
Besotted by wine, besotted by me.
Bounded yourself in captivity.

Twelve Olympians, to rule as they choose.
Twelve Olympians, we'll start with Zeus.
God of sky, thunder, lightning, law.
Ruled the Olympians with the justice he saw.
Commonly referred to as the Father.
Next is Poseidon, God of Water.
"A tamer of horses and a saviour of ships,"
Said in one of Homer's hymns.
Next is Hera, Queen of the Gods, and of women.
Giving mothers a carriage, and marriage to men.
Next is Demeter, Goddess of Harvest, giving fertility.
Hades captured her daughter, Persephone, and her virginity.
Then there's Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.
Lept out of Zeus' head, and earned her throne in the kingdom.
Apollo is next, God of Music, Poetry, Light.
Also capable of bringing plague and plight.
Artemis, Goddess of Moon and Hunt, and Apollo's twin.
Guided mothers through childbirth, a sacred ******.
Also, beloved Aphrodite, Goddess of Love.
Lover of Ares, who favored battles and blood.
Only Hephaestus and Aphrodite were wed.
Fire, metalwork, art of sculpture he led.
Also, there's Hermes, a god bringing word.
Among other things, guide to the Underworld.
Finally, there's Hesta, Goddess of the Hearth.
Feeding families and serving the home with warmth.
Twelve Olympians, to rule the sky.
Twelve Olympians, give your memory a try.

I imagine myself
A few gentle decades older.
Finally grasping the cusp
Of success.
Living in my own apartment
In New York City, nonetheless.
Wearing an Armani coat
(Whatever those look like.)
Walking idly yet prestigiously
Through winter in the city.
Taking care not to laugh too loud,
Talk to myself, smile too much.
A small, attractive female
Has to be serious to get ahead.
Customers will buy from a happy girl
Only if she is early 20's, at most.
That is Marketing 101.
I am a small fish in a large sea;
The principles of Darwinism
Still apply to me.
I've learned long ago to succeed,
I must stifle the welcoming smile.
So along the familiar concrete
I stride,
Carefully manicured hands
In pockets.
The Filipinos know better
Than to rush on the hands
Of a businesswoman caressing
A successful career.
She tips well and lives well.
I walk along with cool calm
And feminine grace.
I have regained the safety
To be feminine once again.
The criminals know better
Than to infiltrate
The Business district
And cause trouble
To working professionals
In Armani coats.
I imagine myself a few decades older.
Kissing snowflakes unenthusiastically.
Yes, I marvel in poetry, in Nature,
But I have matured
Much like the snowflakes themselves.
At the end of a cycle,
No matter how beautiful.
My actions flow gracefully and delicately.
I melt into New York City
Like a cell in a body.
Pumping fuel into the *****
To sustain the mass.
A tumor.
I smile subtly as I slosh along.
I recall, once upon a time,
On my lower-class youth.
***** jokes, crude dancing,
And cluttered apartments.
I approach the high-rise building
I call home and greet the doorman
With the obligatory disregard
For his innermost being.
Poetry truly is in the strangest of places.
Even in an enigma like me.
I enter the marble floors,
Wiping my feet,
My rent as sky-high as
The building itself.
Elevator. Comforting motion sickness.
This is success.
The pit of my stomach sinks.
I tell myself it's the motion sickness.
I return to my apartment,
With its symmetrical details.
My thoughts return to you.
You've never stepped foot in my home,
But you've always been here with me.
I get dinner started.
I set out the extra glass, like always.
Rituals like these serve
As my Sunday mass.
I drink your glass with my evening medication.
Dare I say like always?

We are a deeply entwined vine
Growing ever more far apart,
But still attached at the roots.
He has rooted himself in myself,
And has become a part of me.
I dissected worms in high school,
But I don't feel qualified
To dissect our conjointment.
He has asked me to hand him the scalpel,
And I have become too accustomed
To his requests to decline.
We stare at each other,
Both of us too timid to cut the ties,
And go to bed side by side
With scalpels in hand.

What does it take
To have a joyful cheer?
What is it at stake
To smile; that's unclear.
When our gaze meets,
And a smile, it is spread,
And I announce myself a greet,
It is unreturned instead.
For this reason, I am unsold,
I need your reasons why.
A smile unreturned is cold.
Don't say I didn't try.

Excuse me for my hurt,
I know you mean well,
And you want to inspire,
And uplift me,
But language is a fickle art.
One that can make the difference,
Composing tone and the words themselves.
And there is no greater insecurity
Than the one called Me.

Since the very beginning,
I have been openly listening,
Engaging in thoughtful discussion -
The subject of You, the percussion.
I immediately spotted possible repercussions.
I wanted, and I still do,
To know your essence,
But healthy exchanges
Involve equality,
And I don't want to be left hanging,
Feeling like I'm lesser.

I crave knowing the rest of your essence,
But have you no interest
In knowing the same?
Are our minds connected
Of the same fibers
Or are we what we weave,
Being different in how we perceive,
A lifetime of individual strings?

The only Person I should keep in my life,
Making me feel inferior and uninteresting,
Is Me -
And I shall escape that fate,
With unconditional love, and positivity.

I am deeply interested,
In knowing MySelf, loving MySelf,
And to You, who has shown limited interest
In simply knowing me,
You, I choose as a direction of my Purity,
You, unaltered and true,
You, and Me, Alone -

It all, once again,
Always begins with You.

Have I left you all dry,
With a throat I’ve supplied
With the words of a poet
Who slips a poem inside.
Receiving your mail,
You handsome, dark male,
You sat in a chair
With woozy head as you stare.
Painting her body, prepared,
For you to meet her and share.
The words of her letter,
Forms the pierce of her stare,
Her full body in view,
She arches her back up for you.
Pulls up her long, cascading hair.
Moves to her rhythm,
You watch her, ensnared.
With her own ink she’s shared,
Dancing for you with words placed with care.
Your body feels weak, your head feels so light,
The pumping of blood supplies you with
Your want for the night.
You stare at her words, in the shape of her curves,
Her lips parting in pleasure, her eyes shooting arrows,
You study every seductive trace of a dot,
Coming to life in every detail she’s got,
She’s sent herself to you, you can smell her perfume,
Sprawled out on your page, she beckons to you.

Cherries are sweet
Yes, it's true
But damaged ones are
So sweet too
They may look unhappy
Or maybe scary
But tarnished cherries are
One I would marry.

My thoughts are chemicals.
I am made of recycled cells
That I ingest, I take in what's best
For optimal health, active or at rest.

My DNA as mysterious as the Cosmos,
The Cosmos less of a mystery than Ocean floors.
I come from the Ocean, an awesome notion,
A family with all others, every Thing is a cousin.

My ancestors all made it to reproduction.
I am assembled, through history, through selection.
My traits have been crafted, positively reacted.
Nurtured by Nature, genes that have lasted.

I am made from the stars,
Drink water that passed through dinosaurs.
I experience Life, though filled with a bounty of strife,
Through eyes of a Human, intelligence my paradise.

And though my species feels more advanced
And in control of a world we craft with our own hands,
We are not self-efficient, resources increasingly deficient,
A virus to be easily shaken, in which the planet would not be missing.

I have a fleeting gift,
Amidst the destruction that here lives,
And that is my consciousness,
No fear of abyss, no promise of bliss,

But in my spark of a lifetime,
Seemingly insignificant, and that's fine,
I have inside endless thoughts with my mind,
No need of afterlife with a gift so divine.

The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.

I would die for them
To not be consumed
Through mass consumption,
Through a mass genocide.
Every day, millions dead.
Every day alive,
Just as miserable, as hopeless
As the day they are led
To the heavy slaughterhouse doors.
I would die for it to end.
But since I can't, I'll live for them.

Feel pity for the turtle,
Born captive in a bowl.
Swimming in a circle,
A life been bought and sold.

He has his natural instincts,
Engrained in DNA.
I wonder what he thinks,
Being captive every day.

To him, it must feel wrong.
A missing link to life.
Pondering all along,
Why his surroundings don't suffice.

If released to the wild,
Survival would be scarce.
He's been captive since a child.
Born an artificial heir.

The turtle knows only this society,
It's what he's been born into.
His intuition - alive, indeed,
Tells him what turtles do.

I watch him in his tank, a curse.
How it must feel strange.
Born to fulfill a turtle's life purpose,
But forced into walls, by humans who exchange.

I feel pity for the turtle,
Then realize my foolishness.
Humans, too, know the artificial -
Yearning for natural happiness.

We build up our own glass walls,
And bear children to not see,
That there is life beyond this all,
That offers more than we think we need.

We, too, are like turtles,
Having a purpose to fulfill.
We overcome so many hurdles,
Within glass walls that ****.

The double slit experiment
In quantum mechanics
Shows us one thing:
That you can’t trust a *******.

You can’t even trust a particle
Without watching it like a hawk,
And even then it will disobey you.

Be a little rebel,
Get yourself a little *****,
Have your own opinions,
Let relationships decay into ruin.

Quantum mechanics tells me
That we’re all a little cunty,
Even the atoms that comprise us,
So what choice do we have
In the end?

Roof over our head, smile on our lips.
Rings on our fingers, baby in the stroller.
You and I work the 9 to 5 shift,
Before heading to bed, lights out with a kiss.
A perfect life: Except I'm bipolar.

The day to day is more than bearable.
Little fights, taking little to heart.
Then I snap, and it all gets terrible.
Singing dramatically, dancing on the table.
That's when the fun part starts.

What triggers it is anyone's call.
It could be a traumatic event,
Or it could be for no reason at all,
Other than neurotransmitters not being sent;
Sending my mind into a place I'm enthralled.

I'm sent to a building that makes me feel well,
After bringing your patience to the brink.
It's a necessary evil, but at the time, it's Hell;
And when it will happen again, no one can tell.
I'm sent home with pills and time to think.

Roof over our head, smile on our lips.
Rings on our fingers, baby in the stroller.
You and I work the 9 to 5 shift,
Before heading to bed, lights off with a kiss.
A perfect life: Except I'm bipolar.

I’ll bloom in spring
Alongside the Californian hills.
When the rain paints
The terrain green
With speckled white wildflowers,
I’ll tiptoe on sunlight
to touch the sky.
I’ll be the brightest star
They’ve yet to discover.
Shooting, shining, falling,
And wished upon.
Dry land, crispy and brown
Underneath my feet on
A winter night.

I feel pretty and soft,
Like a jasmine flower
Blooming with fragrant power,
Feminine and unique,
No two alike in pale white and pink,
Harnessing, absorbing
Sweet summer light,
The rich scent of jasmine
Carried aright,
Weightless and pungent,
Expressively existing.
I feel pretty and soft,
My presence caressing and kissing.

You're like the sun:
The center of my universe
But better seen
From far away.

I'm like the moon:
Orbiting around you,
Coming closer as the
Day fades away.

Your galaxy of options
Leaves little to be desired.
The spark that once shown so bright
Is now a dying sun.

I'm stuck in this space.
No place to take refuge.
Dodging all the fiery flares
You spew at me in fury.

We collide with each other,
Send fragments of our selves
In the abyss,
Never to be seen again.

Except maybe a piece
Now turned to precious gold,
Someone far away finds hidden,
And holds onto for a lifetime.

Your silence climbs like vines,
I hardly notice it binds,
Past my grounded thighs,
Twisting all up my spine,
My heart's furnace, it shall find,
And attempt to smother it alive.
I know we're on year nine,
And you've always been on my mind,
But now there comes a time -
That the Sunshine, I just can't find,
Your contempt for me is all that you remind,
The only time you direct your energy towards mine.

I can stand tall on my own.

Through Winter, I did not wither,
From my keeper, no compassionate water delivered -
The blood from within my veins of river,
From my own flourishings, is where I beat the shiver.
Let it be known:
Nourishment & Encouragement
Is what you couldn't give her.
What she found instead:
Her inner self is her giver.

Born with a scorn
For the body adorned
With ribbons and bows
And told, "How she glows!"
"I am not a girl,"
He boldly tells the world.

Born with a feeling forlorn,
Feeling emotionally torn--
If I am a boy,
Why am I annoyed
When told not to dance,
And no dresses, just pants.
"I am not a boy,"
She says, cutesy and coy.

Nourished, full stomach;
Comfort for my dancing tongue.
Feeling satisfied.

Without a bluejay
Life is so very nay.
Without a brother like you
Dreams are bitter too.
Without a crossword puzzle
Or maybe a toy train
Life is not the same at all,
Life is not the same.

Ever wondered about my style?
What I admire and what I deem vile?
Well, gather around, I'll let you see
Who I am, through what else, but poetry?

My favorite flower is a cherry blossom.
As for food, bread is awesome.
I spend much of my time on Twitter.
I like birds, the ones that flutter.

My favorite author is Ms. Anne Rice.
Her book, "Memnoch" is very nice.
My favorite poet is Aleister Crowley.
As for artist, that would be Dali.

I like Reggae straight from Trenchtown.
Most of all, I like System of a Down.
Philip Wesley is my favorite composer.
If I may be so bold, Chopin, move over.

My favorite film is Sweeney Todd.
By my top director, who is slightly odd.
Johnny Depp is my favorite actor and hunk.
I'm not a fan of touchdowns and dunks.

A big interest is Nutrition and Health.
I'm against Corporations and Banks, with all their wealth.
I like Documentaries and things that make me think.
Carrot juice is one of my favorite things to drink.

My favorite painting hangs on my wall.
The artist or name, I have not a clue at all.
I like eating cherries and playing pretend.
I like talking to those I consider a friend.

I like dancing at raves, even on the stage.
I like my job, though it's minimum wage.
I'm good without gods, I bow to none.
No political party, with that, I'm done.

That about sums me up, I hope you see
My likes and interests described to a tee,
In the fashion of the rhyme scheme A and B.
Did I mention the fact that I write poetry?

I was raised by a mentally ill father.
Because there is comfort in numbers,
I, too, was afflicted by a similar disorder.
It’s difficult to separate the person from the sickness,
Sometimes impossible.
Sometimes we become the shadowy monster,
Embrace it with wilted roses,
Knowing too well that of everything else,
The disorder will still be there,
Waiting.
My shadow has been dormant.
My father’s is still active,
Seeking.
Sometimes when we meet it’s like a perfect storm,
A tornado of comfort.
Someone understands the climate.
I take my father’s hand encouragingly,
He turns to run, squirrely,
The shadow greets me with open arms.
I love the shadow as much as I love the man.
After all, there is comfort in numbers.

The roses in the garden are beautiful but somewhat mean
They think of themselves as the kings and queens
With a superior air about them they put others down
As they flaunt about the garden in their thorny crowns

So all the flowers got together
To form a picket line
Feeling they were being unfairly treated
Or so felt the dandelions

The hydrangeas overflowing
In decadent display
Are not timid, they prefer
To make heads turn their way

The single, reserved tulips
Are certainly a bit more shy
While still drawing attention
By the way they kiss the sky

Every flower in the garden
Think their own beauty could run the show
That's what each of them wrote on their sign
To let the roses know

This trouble with mothers nature
Will be written about in books
The uprising in the garden
The day the earth was shook

Back before those thorny reds
It seemed everything was bliss
So the weeds were hired for a hit
By the sneaky, scheming iris

The weeds though were sprayed the day before
So they never stood a chance
They were knocked out of the running
When they themselves danced with death

The white picket fence was knocked down
Which set the snapdragons free
Creating quite the havoc
In this wild garden mêlée

This day will always be remembered
Made sure by the forget-me-nots
When all the flowers got together
To show the roses what they've got

What do I have at my disposal?
A knack for always wanting to write
My intuitive messages down.
But it’s got no substance,
It’s got no meat.
I’m all bread and cheese and
Condiment without any meat.
It’s fitting for a vegan, I suppose,
But not for a poet.
The poet has to lead breadcrumbs
For the reader in order to get to the meat
Of the poem, the substance, the protein.
Where is it?
I’m lacking substance where I have all these
Nice little toppings and sauces and vegetables,
I have a dipping sauce for this sandwich,
But no meat!
I have to go to the store,
I have to keep honing my skill.
I have to develop a hunger for meat.

I love you,
Wildly, silently,
Imitating it's idly,
Displaying my affection quietly.

Timid, I am, of course.
Enjoying our discourse.
And everything you are,
I'm so heavenly immersed -

Yes, in your quirky quarks from quasars,
Running its benevolent course.

Still, inside, I thirst.
To let you know,
I'm yours.

Lost in a loving serge. . .

With quarks from the hottest starburst.

How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
When they are all
Celebrating our marriage?
When they are all
"The start of our yearly
Ornament collection,"
We thought would fill
An entire tree one year,
Years from now,
When our love would only grow.
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
When they are all
Symbols of unity?
When they are all
Carefully chosen,
Unlike our love,
Which was blind
And taken with no other consideration.
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?
Who is supposed to hold onto
These memories?
Who is supposed to dispose of them
When their memories are irrelevant?
And when the small collection
Becomes too cumbersome to hold onto?
How do we divide up
The Christmas ornaments?

My brain is much too foggy
And much too sporadic
To need stimulants,
Much less depressants.
I can dance all night
To the beat of my own rhythm,
And not need a reason
To act so rebellious.
I am a free spirit.
My brain isn't jealous
Of ones that need guidance
To make it see demons
And feel ecstasy, feel high.
I can get that on my own,
It's in my chemistry.
I don't want it to start,
But I'll go for a ride.
But your pills are cute, sweetheart.

I am a sponge,
Absorbing everything.
And when I wring
Myself out,
All the dirtiness,
All the tears,
All the battery
Throughout the years
Will cascade down,
And there will be
Rainbows abound.

If being stripped of liberty,
We owe no responsibility
To tethering our ties
To a system of lies.
Insanity, defined,
If we choose to read,
Means working to thrive
Through ways we won't succeed.

The system is broken.
Turn off the machine.
If doubt has not awoken,
Ask yourself, please:

Do you question many things
That you hear spoken?
Do you admit your own views
May contain false notions?
Does our culture retain
Unnecessary devotions?
Is government improving,
Bringing peace across oceans?

Emancipate from demands
Of societal bands.
Renounce the commands
And requests that don't stand
The test of your ability
To reason with civility.

A question is a "quest I on"
Not a destination.
It leads to many places.
Go ahead. Try it on.

Breezing past the seasons,
Ocean breeze releases.
Pedaling with our knees, us,
And our music blaring, see us,
See our smiles, you can read us.
The air is there to feed us.
He pedals on like she does,
Finding happiness is there to greet us.

I live in the East
You live in the West
I roll to the right
You lean to the left

You watch the game,
I text my friends for fun.
You write every day,
What awaits me is always unsung.

I'm one that loves vanilla
While you prefer your chocolate
You live life in the open
I tend to close and lock it

I like the night,
You await the morning.
My sunsets, purple and pink,
Your sunrise has orange hues adorning.

I'm early to bed early to rise
You never seem to close your eyes
These days I'm moving rather slow
As you're always on the go

You have your coffee with cream,
I have my Kombucha tea.
You grill up some steaks to eat,
I say pass the salad to me.

Though we're miles apart
In differences between
Commonality we definitely
Have in our love of poetry

Brimming with joy
Becoming a star
Little by little
I will go far.
With kindness in my heart
And a compassionate soul.
Gifted from the start
With a spirit that's whole.

The eyes have it.
All three of them.
Spreading consciousness.
An egg cracking
With an encouraging moan.
The clash between personalities
To inherit the throne.
Hasty overthrow.
Short-lived lifespan.
Sedated again,
Chemically, internally,
Where did you go?
You're there.
You're inside of me.
Back in your egg,
Calling "come find me.
I'll come out and play,
And give you more meaning,
Daft, sedated you stay,
Until I come out and play."
How many nesting dolls
Does this egg have?

The spirit and the ego,
At war for a turn
To guide my ways
Through all of days
From the cradle to the urn.

The ego goes down, the walls follow.
My spirit emerges nimble and free.
Its stay is short,
The doctors will thwart
The ignited spiritual emergency.

Emotion pulses through me,
My mind and voice are rapid.
A needle through my arm
To abate my alarm.
Soon I'll feel vacant and vapid.

Now I sit at home,
Too lethargic to walk out the door.
Perhaps low energy
Is better than insanity,
Considering where it got me before.

This is how it ought to be,
The ego in control of it.
I lose my mind,
Become unkind,
From an unleashed, suppressed spirit.

Golden arches,
Some stop to eat.
Mouse ears,
Some stop to retreat.

All these shops that we see
And all the smiling faces
Plastered on a mascot
Brings the viewer to higher places.

The holidays come,
The people gather 'round
A flat screen TV
And knock each other to the ground.

Here used to lie an orange grove
That provided for the land.
Now times have changed, values too.
In its place a theme park stands.

This generation's happines
Can be bought and sold
By paper we deem valuable
For that is what we're told.

Yet the sight of a valley
Brings me more joy
Than any handy dandy
Service, gadget, toy.

If the song birds sang
At night, if they rang
When the stars show their light,
Instead of sunlight,
If they sang at this, the hour of noon,
Or if they sang to the piercing moon,
Would it be the same?
Would birds have a new fame,
Like the owl, their calls eerie?
Instead of the chirps we know, cheery?
Would I feel this at ease
And attuned to peace,
Listening to their music,
Or would their majesty lose it?