Thunder rages on outside.
I am not the only traveler
who has not repaid his debt.
It attempts to scare me
into succumbing to the dark
and to the rain.
I would like rain
to accompany me on my
endeavors.
But I’m too much indebted
to afford it.
The skies want their
money back
and the heavens
have sent lightning.
They need it back
to bring back order.
Such a concentration of darkness
in one mortal isn’t natural.
They demand it back.
They need it back.
They send the rains
to make me yield to wizardry.
I do not
and smile in hope
that I’ll belong to the rain someday
and rain will belong to me.

Would you help those
who help themselves
or call them selfish?

To live without love is death.
To live honestly,
Is to love truly.
Life is a meaningless void.
Dark, dull, and unafraid.
Populous yet lonely,
Blinding yet bleak.
A land of color coexists,
of love that is cautious and daring.
Transcending human comprehension
And the providing hope
along with its audacity.
It’s power and will to thrive
conquers the misanthropy
Of austere death.

He’s ash now.
He played with ash back then.
He’s dirt.
He was dirt back then.
He snatched their slums
and their palaces
But now he can’t live in either.
He pumped out dirt
into the river back then.
He’s going back
to the river now.