Brick
        By
            Brick
A house is built
Hour
        By
            Hour
The house becomes a home
Day
        By
            Day
The home turns into memories
Year
        By
            Year
The memories turn into people
Century
        By
            Century
The people turn into stories
Story
        By
            Story
Stories turn into legends
Legend
        After
            Legend
History is changed
Piece
        By
            Piece
Lives are changed
Person
        By
            Person
Love is spread
One Love
        After
            Another
Bricks are purchased
That build houses
That turn into homes
That create memories
That turn into people
That turn into stories
That turn into legends
That change history
And it all started with
Just. One. Brick.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

I don't believe in soul mates
What I do believe in
Is people that connect
On some deeper level
Immediately upon acquaintance
And not meaning you agree
On where to eat for dinner
But the connection where your heart
Seems to slip out
Of your rib cage
Because it's found a home
Outside of your chest.

1.  The only escape from this nightmare is death
     But that’s not escape - it’s nothing but a blackout.
     The only hope left flickers and dies
     Like an ill-tended summer campfire
     As the lucky numbers refuse to compute,
     And all that’s left is sand and sun     
     That scorches all attempts to find a way
     To make accommodations to the heat.

      Safe for now inside a fragile stucco igloo,
      What will happen when the statement comes
      That says we can’t afford the ice
      That’s needed to stave off the burn,
      And there’s no shady place to go and hide.
      With no escape to dream filled sleep
      There’s only counting minutes on a clock that                                                          never  moves.                             
                                                                ­                                    
2.   The ragged sleeve is not caught up at night
      And the road ends at a chasm of despair.
      The winds and tides are out of sync
      And morning comes at midnight.
      Writhing in the tangled sheets, I’m
      Thinking thoughts with no way out,
      Of what was always bound to come,
      Riding on another bad decision.

3.   Death will not lure me this night -
      Too cruel to leave him here alone
      Without the necessary tools to live
      And find a road that leads to hope.
      If only slumber was my friend
      And I was not out counting stars
      When it’s too dark to find my way
      And all the nearby world is snoring.

4.   Huddled in a corner with a pen
      The paper blots up tears and ink
      And offers no hope of surcease
      To seeds of panic poised to grow.
      If only a little rain would fall.

ljm

Thistledown on a gentle breeze
On it’s way to somewhere

Tiny petals setting sail
Across an Autumn puddle

Blackbirds sing in the Cat-tail reeds
And three puppies sleep in a tangle

I hold a cup of steaming tea
And sit on the front porch steps

As summer fades I recollect
The past year of my life

I didn’t win awards or fame
I didn’t inherit wealth

I finally learned to love myself
And forgive me all my failings

That opened doors I never saw
And gave me eyes to see

The beauties of the life I’ve made
And who I’ve come to be

The strength I didn’t know was there
The gentle hand I offer

I comforted that little girl
Trembling in a corner

Of the dark space in my soul
And told her it will be O.K.

The sunrise here is glorious
And we’re gonna be just fine.
                ljm

POEM
1. an arrangement of words written or spoken: traditionally a rhythmical composition, sometimes rhymed, expressing experiences, ideas or emotions in a style more concentrated, imaginative and powerful than that of ordinary speech or prose; some poems are in meter, some in free verse.
2.anything suggesting a poem in its effect.

I’m told real poems always rhyme-
Anything else is drivel.
If we abide by that stern rule
Then real music can only be opera.

Real dance can only be ballet
And real paintings photographic.
Why is there so much latitude
In all the other art forms

And no acceptance for blank verse,
Even with fantastic formats,
Even if it makes you cry...
If there is no rhyme, it’s junk.

Everyone who does not rhyme
Quite probably can do it,
But they can write blank verse sublime
If you only leave them to it.
ljm

I despise social media.
It's ugly, to state the obvious
Our lives are posted, retweeted, altered, reblogged, perfected, and photoshopped to exactly how we want to be perceived
We have the freedom to be exactly what they want us to be.

It starts with a few edits doesn't it,
pigmented our skin to seem smooth and sun kissed,
that would seem most acceptable right?
Maybe an extra like for the skinnier waist.
More reassurance for brighter colors.
Some more filters will hid the emptiness you feel with your friends
   Another like
Flashier clothing, phones, shoes, cars, other simple words our eyes have latched on to
     Another like
We urge ourselves to portray the life of leisure and effortless beauty, happiness, success,
       Another like
But what are we enjoying?
         Another like
Views of our changing world through a 3 by 8 view.
           Another like
Events pass by swipe
             Another like
and swipe
               Another like

And when we managed to unlock ourselves from this grasp
We always come back
Like flies to light, more like scratches to a scab
Festering we find ourselves getting ****** back in
To an imaginary world, that if destroyed, would have no physical effects on their fictional beings
For without this world, maybe eyes will open
We will step past the boundaries,
and start to love our beings
unfiltered