It stood on a throne,
Made out of lime stone.

It was clothed,
In colorless gold.

It wore a shadeless crown,
Above its brow.

Its heart was frozen-
From winters night.

Its soul was diced,
by Jack Frost's knife.

It stood alone,
In its quite abyss.
Dismissing my stare.

Though it was free,
It looked lost at sea.

For, I waited to hear a plea,
But it was silent as a willow tree.

Time passed-
And it started to bow

To the brown earth beneath its feet,
To the blue sky above its crown.

Though, the journey was over,
And the final Goodbyes were made.

I could never forget the pride in its eyes,
Or why it stood so still.

For to this day,
I question if I'll every discover,
If the White Rose knew,
Of its wonder?

This is the story of a girl, who's eyes were black as night. Stars would flow from her hair, whenever she took flight.

On the back of a sparrow she would rise, to bid the sun farewell. Hair changing the sky to dark, stars shining where they fell.

Arms outstretched she'd gather sunsets, and place them in a jar. Making wishes for brighter days, upon each shooting star.

Faint memories hold as time wears on, she no longer has a name. Age no longer takes her youth, she'll always radiate the same.

Her gown of blue flows around her, with elegant wings spread her sparrow fly's. Changing day into night, forever doomed to roam the evening sky's.

This heart  is always open for business
Feel free to step inside
Round the clock, 24 hours
For whenever you have the time

There is always room for seconds
Even thirds if you so desire
The menu won't leave you guessing
Offering a variety of warming sides

Fill your plate up with the caring
Pouring onto it, a boat load of love
This heart encourages sharing
Of these delights there is never enough

You're more than welcome to bring your friends
There is always room for everyone
Friday nights it has karaoke
With plenty of song to sing along

Come inside for the daily specials
A little something to lighten the mood
If you don't have time to enjoy it here
Feel free to take this heart home with you

some days
i'd like to run away
from where i'm at
to another place
perhaps a wrinkle in
somebody else's face
or hide out
inside a crooked smile
anywhere
where i'd not be found out

jump into an eye
in the middle of a blink
slide around the back
and watch them while they think
after awhile
i would venture out
making my way north
find a bushy brow
change my accent and identity
to a cajon from the south

jump onto a tear
as it's wiped close to the ear
whisper subliminal messages
get me out of here...

Let's keep Christ in Christmas
Say the stickers and the signs
When was the day we lost our way
And can we find it back in time

Perhaps if we focused less on us
And more on the risen King
He'd not only be in Christmas
But also everything

I'm not saying that old St. Nicholas
Does not serve out a purpose
But when it comes to saving souls
I'm pretty sure he's worthless

So let's keep Christ throughout the year
Not only in this season
Making it to those around us clear
He truly is the reason

sometimes I don't like being a loner
but I guess its better than being a stoner
I am caught in mellow drama
kids these days hooked on marijuana
I will not smoke *** with you
but I will read you pride and prejudice
I like my books better than oxycontin
My Clarry and Jace more than your straight ***** and chase  
I like books more than people
reading is my choice drug
while yours starts bringing you down
on your addiction is frowned
mine is making me looked up to
yes I am a loner
my walls build from Stephen kings
my heads not clouded with weirs the ****
no I guess I am not a stoner
but fictional people are better than real ones
I wont **** for a too finger bag
but touch my paper back and ill have your ***

They said,  "you're not a poet"
"You don't write about love"
"About beauty and harmony"
"You should write with a quality of light"

I replied, "what about the pain"
"The torment within the soul"
"The expression to feel rejected"
"For l see light through darkness"

They said, "You have no meter"
"Your words lack any rhyme"
"You should write with rhythm"
"That is what poetry is about"

I replied, "I am a reflection"
"I can not be anything else"
"My words come from my mind"
"For my poetry is about.......me"