I wander down to the stream 
Turned pastel in dawns light 
The light shines through the trees 
Magnified by their leaves 
As acorns turn 
Like the trees in fall 
From green to brown 
The moss grows on rocks  
Mushrooms spring up
Their tiny heads the size of a child's finger 
The grass grows along it's banks 
Long stalks of glistening life 
Feeding the doe as she wanders close 
I pick a blade 
Feet bared in the stream 
Serrated hairs on the blade 
Bury themselves in my finger 
I surrender to the imperfection 
That digs into me like a thorn 
And spend the whole day 
Ridding it of it's flaws
Making the grass smooth 
Beautiful 
Whole
Perfect 
If only to do this 
Were as easy in real life

Blank streets 
Roses in the street below. 
The street below 
And the walking signs
Waving hats
Paper avenue 
From the balcony above

A fairytale starts with 'once upon time'. 
But a real story starts with 'this ain't no *******' 
And I kinda like that...

110 pencil shavings 
In America 
Being used by 
A hungry boy 
On the dusty streets 
Of Africa 
A sad excuse  
For kindling 

110 newspapers printed 
In America 
Being used for shelter 
In Tokyo 
Against the driving 
Rain 
A sad excuse 
For a home 

110 signs fluttering 
With her hands 
Frail knives 
No hearing 
But so many words 
Locked in a cupboard 
Her father doesn't 
Understand.  
The caged stuttering.

Panic races through 
In a high voltage 
Bright red jeep 
She flings past  
And crashes through 
 The doorway 
Clanging with metal 
Chains, studs 
Through her ears 
Black combat boots 
A belt slung about 
A slim waist 
She is full of 
Confusion 
Trying to make herself 
Forgive and forget 
Lying 
Convincing 
Cheating 
Persuading 
Herself 
It will 
Be 
Okay 
              Maybe? 
A tough exterior 
Leather bound with lock and ice 
A fragile shuttering 
Doubt 
Inside

There are some people 
Who would argue 
That white is not a color 
But if we lived 
In a world 
Of black and white 
And gray shadow 
Wouldn't you notice 
 A red apple?
It is because we see 
Prisms 
         Spectrums 
                        Of color 
And so little white 
That some would argue 
But in a world 
Without white 
              What color 
                      Would the clouds be?

The days are walking along now 
In a single file line  
With the ease of practiced time 
The days are looking up now 
Swaying now here and there 
Life moving with golden silt 
Faces turned to the sun 
The dais are under control now 
And I smile at the thought of it  
Reigned in and gasping in green tinted laughter 
Time walks beside me now 
Keeping a slendered pace