The way things are,
are Ne'er eternally set in slabs
of stone and marble,
for if man wishes,
they might bend and warp
beneath the pressures we
apply.
Ne'er lose hope you young
people, for this is your time,
time to change,
time to reform,
time to knock down,
and rebuild,
be it Love, work,
life itself, ne'er to late.

Hollow, and bitter,
scarring me in more ways than it seems.
my heart aches at the empty words,
"I love you",
I wish, pray, and consult the heavens
that soon they might prove to be true,
but, here I sit in idle wallowing in the sea
of despair and pity.
Only the removal of these empty words,
will enliven me once more and that I might
utter unto you the sincere, heartfelt words,
"I love you",
and mean it, but as for this moment,
nay, I cannot say it without it being deemed
as false.
For they are, Empty words.

Is days beauty disturbed by clouds and rain?
For who truly decides what is beautiful to world?
Only you decide what is beautiful to you,
and not a thing can change that,
for everything in the world has its beauty,
but not everyone is able to see such beauty.

It has me thinking, is a beast ugly to another beast?
Is a woman ugly to all men?
Is a serpent hideous to humans?
Who decides?
Only the people who view them can decide for themselves,
beauty is not like a word in the dictionary with a set definition,
its ever changing, ever present and it is spurred from personality.
You cannot mould beauty to suite your own needs and desires,
you can destroy it!

But who would do such a thing?
Beauty is not the physical part of all things,
it is the emotional and spiritual side of all things also,
the whole is beauty.

They danced into fury,

with twists, and twirls, and the

glint of their silver, the fires of their eyes.

The footing and timing perfect,

they chased, and they followed,

they danced around the floor.

Their wrists fluently moving,

the silver shining in the sun,

they danced with sharpness and

precision around the floor,

kicking up dust,

the crowd lifted into an uproar.

So amused were they as

they danced around the floor.

Anger and passion unleashed in such elegance,

a sight unseen.

They danced with purpose and intent,

they danced closer,

till light could not be seen between them.

They danced far,

they tossed each other across the floor.

Breaking a sweat, after an hour of dancing

they continued until dusk.

Such passion and intent failed to relent until,

one swift, and sudden move,

ended the dance, the shining silver,

ran red,

and one was left to dance another day.

Never before had such a thing been witnessed,

never again should it be, Cries lifted from the spectators.

“Pelagius! Pelagius! Pelagius!” they cried, they cheered.

They threw petals of rose at him, and softly they fell,

and staggered did he with sweat covered feat,

away from the floor, into history.

Let my death not be brought about by the pain,

of elongation, of sickness and disease,

nor the bitterness and cruelty of Nature.

Let my death come of time,

when all else seems of no effect,

in the midst of yells and screams,

Fire and Smoke,

crack and Shot,

in the hot temperament of Sacrifice and Glory,

Let my death unfold like a letter being read,

and my death will be watched,

by people who will stand in awe.

Let My death be not of no use,

Let it serve a true purpose,

let it be with intent,

Let it be of a lesser good,

rather than a greater evil.

I will not die in the solemnity of a hospital room,

Nor in the silence of a cold household room,

I will not die in bitter cold,

For deep down inside,

I know I will die with the warmth of my love for,

my family, my home,

my people, my nation,

My Faith, My Freedom,

My Brothers, My Sisters,

My God, My God.

Expectations unmet,
create a nasty shock,
aim slightly lower.

O’er the hills, in the far eastern valleys vast expanse, there lays the green pastures, on which the shepherds flock does so comfortably feast. Where the knee-high blades bend beneath your hands as you reach down.

Barefoot, you run across the wide, open plains,
the beads morning dew catch on your feet.
As footprints you do leave, trail across the emerald plain.

Small seemingly insignificant dots of flowers,
Red, blue, yellow, a great host of colour, quite the pretty painting it would be. The flowers beds, home to the elegant dances of the flowing butterflies, and the youthful crickets song.

The sapphire sky, with snow white clouds, lingering here and there,
float and drift in timing with the winds whisper, gentle though it were.

As one wanders throughout the Wonderful grasslands, you see the fleet of blades shiver and dance. Final beads of dew do catch the radiant spot of sun, and catches in your eye, a photograph a painting, of a wonderful Elysian Field.