The boy ran through the fields,
His kite blazing like a comet
In the hot summer of yesterday.
Flying through the tall grass,
An open mouth, a smile held fast,
He danced, and leaped, and span away;
Safe in youth and come what may.

The day moves on.

The wind swept hard across the fields,
The kite bucking against the strain,
A twist and tear in the summer day.
The boy turned, distraught,
To watch his youth fall in thought.
He frowned, and wept, and turned away;
The kite lay broken amongst the hay.

The day moves on.

He turned to home, a sad retreat,
Replacing his steps along the path
He carved across the summer day.
A bird flies across the run,
Feathers flirting in the sun.
He turns and runs, a smile again,
And doesn’t see the hidden pain.

The day moves on.

A flying foot is sliced and pierced,
A scream of pain splits the fields
And the bird flies so fast away.
The discarded wire, the ill placed thought,
With no care for what it’s caught,
Leaves years of scars for a man to pay
And dream the loss of yesterday.

There's just no accounting for happiness,
or the way it turns up like a prodigal
who comes back to the dust at your feet
having squandered a fortune far away.

And how can you not forgive?
You make a feast in honor of what
was lost, and take from its place the finest
garment, which you saved for an occasion
you could not imagine, and you weep night and day
to know that you were not abandoned,
that happiness saved its most extreme form
for you alone.

No, happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair.

It comes to the monk in his cell.
It comes to the woman sweeping the street
with a birch broom, to the child
whose mother has passed out from drink.
It comes to the lover, to the dog chewing
a sock, to the pusher, to the basket maker,
and to the clerk stacking cans of carrots
in the night.
It even comes to the boulder
in the perpetual shade of pine barrens,
to rain falling on the open sea,
to the wineglass, weary of holding wine.

Words Words
***** and *****
The girl runs away
she slams the door
she takes a knife
and cuts her skin
remembering how ******* up her life has been
she leans to the toilet
throws up to be thin
at school all she has is a grin
She cuts cuts cuts some more
Screaming in pain, blood on the floor
People call her emo people laugh at her face
But they haven't even tried to be in her place
Her dad just died, her mom has depression
her brother has to go through a therapy session
Why can't people see? that grin is a lie
everything's done for her, her life's slowly fading by
Bloods dripping on the floor, she's screaming in pain
she can't eat because that means more weight to gain
She wishes to be perfect she says it's not fair
she says she hears people talking about her hair
She cuts it all off, her soul has been broken
but she never told anyone, her words were never spoken
She takes the rope, hangs herself in the dark
She no longer has a beating heart
Her friends fall to the ground
when they hear the word "She's dead"
Her brother cries as he sleeps in her bed
She is gone
She is done
Just because of people. making fun.
She's buried on a Saturday,
people start crying
all because that one girl stopped trying.

so before judging someone on their weight or their clothes
their laugh their talk their hair or their nose
Just take a moment to realize and see
Everyone is not always who they seem to be.

i crave him, he craves her
you crave me, she craves you
strange, isn't it?

your arms held me
together
so when you let go
and walked away
i fell apart
a million pieces of
confusion and pain
as time went on the pieces of me
became sharper and more jagged
nobody would dare try
to put me back together
for everyone i touch
gets cut