Is there one word that holds the power?

The breath created by humble lungs
The frequency resonating a once unheard ******* thrum
And cunningly shaped by a Loquacious tongue

To awaken the minds of the sleepers

Or is it emotion soothed by an ancient vibe

Of Universal Love

But what is Love?

Like a tender mother’s hug Found in the eye of your first friend
Before gazes averted strangers
And embraced the world by steady trust within
Separate tables pushed together
Greetings warm with heartfelt laughter
Everyone singing their own song
As a global chorus comes
On like a rushing blast of heat from the opened oven of love
Forward like the sea foam after the rip tide fades
Onward like the feathered wind, invisible
Yet its presence manifest in ethereal ways
The crescendo of 7 billion voices strong
The thumps of our brothers’ hearts beat out a mighty tune
Pounding the drum of a once deafened ear
The fiddlers from the forest meadow and the rushing of the leaves
Reminding us of our nature
As Oxygen consumers
And carbon dioxide providers

Have you heard the killing of trees?
No, but its seems to be all the Rage
Everywhere I go, seeing tree stumps line the way
Yet green grows evermore
Our living spirit chooses life
Because of darkness
The Light must shine

If I am You and You are Me and no one gets lost in-between
the cracks and the gaps of the sidewalks separated by all too distant train tracks
and the windows of the restaurant protecting the paying customer from the reality of the man
on the street corner
surviving the long night of the soul
Urban deserts, Moniless pits
Filled with human suffering
but human all the same

we are One
God
Different faces
Different Eyes
Different names
Wandering the Earth
Waiting to be saved
Or for those on top
maybe just judgment day

All nations are born of blood,
Baptized in a font of fire.
The pyre is lit
On what once was.
Heritage fights with progress
Till the fulcrum is met.
As societies digress
From there anointed paths.
The history lasts
Till the last generation dies,
No more tales are told
No more lives are sold,
Now the new nations rise.

‘The world around me
All this random stuff getting hurled around me
People getting burned around me
Life seems pretty hard… around me
I’m the observer, that fly on the wall
The observer, still on the wall watching everything around me crumble
Watching everyone fall
The one that’s unnoticeable, like the extra in a movie
A constant extra though, immovable… as much as these events really move me
I watch and wait…
And wait for what?
A change, I think
I think I’ll change…
Tact
And do something about it
But will it really make a difference?
My Input that is
Or, will it make no difference?
Would everything remain the same, with or without it?
I still sit still on the wall, if flies can do that, ‘sit’ on a wall
Considering moving over to the windowsill and watching this downfall
Of society, of the world around me
Financial downfall as well as social, not to mention moral
On second thought, maybe I’ll just hang back... and do nothing at all
For if I have learned anything from our leaders, it is that
Any input is…
Optional
Seasonal
Not to mention conditional
For to do anything about this without any profit or benefit in sight…
Well, that would just be plain impractical.’

Scribbled in a pre-*** haste
of hormones and awful
music taste,
your name on the back of a receipt
is no way to treat
a one night stand
that you met at the bar;
held hands with in the street;
and subsequently left when
the night became light and neat,
tidied up in a 10am alarm clock
call.

Could’ve waited until
we were both awake,
that way the alcohol would’ve warn off
and we could take this major issue
for what it was-
excitement;
and much anticipation; and placing into
action every lesson learnt from Nick Hornby books,
or pieces of information tucked
deep within our internet bookmark lists.

At least stay until after
Desert Island Discs
next time,
because then buses shall be running
on time, and you won’t have to risk
the public transport roulette table
that spins around this town,
this great noun in the Anglia east.

Now it's the news, and the news
is you've gone.  For a moment
I slipped back into a sleepy cement,
making for rough fingers-
that last night made the ascent
up to warmer climates.

And now back to lonelier nights
and Nick Hornby books,
afternoon wake-up calls
from Mum, back home,
asking how to download
the latest Google Chrome.

I smoked, turned music on, and wrote this stupid ****.

These words.
These seemingly futile words.
They're all I have.

These consonants and vowels
taking up space
in your full-capacity life.
It's all I can do.

All of my letters combined
are battling all of these
busy days that have you in
a choke-hold.

I'm doing this.
Because it's all I want to do.
To give you all of me.
Everything I am.
Everything I've ever been.
Everything I can be.
In the only way that I know how.

But, ****.
You have other things to do
than listen to some
silly little words.

Turn your keys into ignition
Just as a star explodes
Crying babies enter the world
Blades of grass learn to grow

Infinite darkness
Mixed with ominous beauty
The need for reflection
The burden of a curse
Mixed with foreboding air
That you’re not allowed to breathe

Erase all superstitions
Just as a black cat prowls
Lying children enter adulthood
The devil’s stomach growls

Infinite darkness
Mixed with ominous beauty
The need for reflection
The burden of a curse
Mixed with foreboding air
That you’re not allowed to breathe