Life is rare
And not to be wasted.
You must live yourself to death.
It is the only way.
However, that is no excuse
To not leave the stench of happiness
In your wake.
Start a spark of inspiration
That leaves passion burning
Through the world
Like blood through a body.
Do not waste your life
On silver and gold.
Instead, pursue true currency.
Wisdom, compassion, and laughter.

Why does my name leave these lips
With such a pitch and tone
To liken me with the things so amazing?
I have not done anything for you.
Never have I even tried.
I have never deserved praise of such kind
From these faces bearing lost names.
I only ever tried to keep a smile,
But that was not enough for you or them.
For thinking such happy thought,
And treating others as equal -if not greater-
You meet me like a hero.
But I relent.
Not enough was done by my hands;
Surely there is another you can find who has worked much harder?
I never was -and never will be- your savior.
I am just a man like you.
If I spread joy, it is not by my might.
I AM NO HERO.
IF I HAVE EVER HELPED YOU ONCE,
DO NOT HELP ME.
I DO NOT DESERVE SUCH THINGS.
FOR WHAT I THINK, IS WHAT MY ACTIONS DESTROY.
Behind this veil of a kind heart,
There floats the sinister whisper.
While I try to make life better,
I am paying for my hideous thoughts committed.

In that dark chasm
The trees slowly died while the water turned black.
Our children lost bits of themselves
And knew nothing but machine.
The ramshackle living of the worker juxtaposes the mansion of Industry.
Coal black rags versus gleaming white marble.
We dragged ourselves out by force.
We gained many scabs and saw the bullets fly,
But we made it out.
Feeling the cool air at the opening,
We took a clean breath.
We sat for a while, letting great men do great things.
Then came the rain.
Now we’re in the middle of a rare, but fierce storm.
Soaking wet and struggling to hold on,
Some of us have forgotten those trees
And those children.
They wish us to take a dive, a plunge.
Back to the chasm.
Where it’s dry.

We love illumination.
The unknown is a scary enemy
And imagination only worsens the fright.
The dark is always out to get us
With the terrible monsters it holds.
We beware the bite,
The scratch
That might be the end of the story.
We also fear the empty continuing.
The possibility of the never-ending,
Empty void beyond our sight.
Will we run forever,
Only to see that dark space grow?
Are there no boundaries to this vast void?
We run into the dark with our lantern.
We try to light it all up.
We must know what is out there.
Like the child in the dark forest,
We’re scared and we just want to see.
But it merely grows.
We’ll never see it all.
However, let’s not take the stance of the angry villager
Running towards a monster,
Torch and pitchfork in hand.
Let us be curious instead,
With the demeanor of the small child chasing a butterfly,
Full of wonder.
After all, we are put the children of this vast Universe.