A rose that only knows sunlight
Can never understand rain;
A heart that's only known gladness
Can never understand pain.
Eyes that have never seen darkness
Cannot comprehend hope;
Passions that have never felt torment
Are fires that can not be stoked.
But wisdom that hearkens to anger
Will someday turn its cheek;
A bold king of cruelty
Will someday join the meek.
Though the good and the bad
Writhe in confliction
Inside us all
Is a whole conviction.
Two parts to a whole,
Two sides in the glass,
The push and the pull,
The future and past.
We stumble about
Our hearts divided in twain
Eking out answers
In our fight to remain.
We ask ourselves
Whatis wrong?
What is right?
Too scared of the dark
To embrace the light.
We cannot be happy
Without having been sad
We cannot have good
Without the bad.

The days are long and arduous,
the drawn out afternoons
smoldering slowly in the expansive heat,
as the sweet taste of breathy breezes
sweep laboriously across the sky,
sinking deeply into the rich brown earth.
The sweat-soaked fields
sway wearily in the extravagant heat;
the golden grains glinting in the graceful rays
of the warm, mellow sunlight.
The trring-trring of bicycles ring all around,
the flashing metal brilliant in the noon day light.
Rivers sparkle,
teeming with life so overjoyed
at the return of better days,
better ways.
Dawn gives way to dusk,
the precious light fading at the corners now,
wiping the clouds down
with deep plums,
and dark blues,
until only night is left.
The star wink and shimmer,
casting silvery light onto solemn rooftops,
shrouding and holding their slumbering contents
in a Mid-summer's night dream.
As the season draws to its close-
its fading glory resplendent
in all the wonders of such a comforting season,
the world breaths in-
quietly content
to put the day
to rest.

These scars
on my arm
remind me
that I am not the person I was before.
Ropy and twisted,
they are scraped across my skin
in memory of all the pains I suffered-
heartache,
betrayal,
torture,
abuse.
They will never leave me,
a permanent discovery of self
that should never be forgotten.
I used to wish I could make them go away,
ashamed of my tainted appearance,
ashamed of my frailty exposed in public.
But, now,
they are like a map to me-
crossroads etched across my skin
in purpling reds and browns;
a timeline that reminds me of how far I have come,
and what I have gone through to get here.
Sometimes, I look at them
and can see where I need to go next-
for each scar has its own story,
and its own lesson.
So, if you see me
on the streets,
arms bared and waving in the wind-
just know that these scars are mine,
my journey,
my burden to bear;
be happy for me-
not sad for the person you think I am-
I know where I've been,
and I know where i'm going.

The wisdom of the ages

falls deaf on silent ears,

when those of 'better' knowledge

lack in better years.

The words they speak are naught but verse,

a pretty, failing void;

They barter time and trade despair,

and on ignorance are sold.

They traipse about with jaunty stride-

merrily nonchalant-

flinging thoughtless wording

like an idiot savant.

To all those who have viewed them,

they are deemed to be unfit;

For who would suffer morons

when they have but half a wit?

In truth, they are our future,

but 'tis a future that I'd fear;

Too many of this generation

talk and will not hear.

They crave with desperation

a life too dark and harrowed,

for live lived in deprivation

'tis a point of view too narrowed.

They do not seek a power inside,

instead, they seek a chalice;

in which all the world's a stage-

but 'tis a poison breeding malice.

Oh- I weep!

for the years that lie ahead-

my brain rebels in horror,

my heart bleeds, raw and red;

The youth are turning old enough,

the future is uncertain;

and all because the high schools

treat education like a curtain.

"Behind this doors, labeled number one,

we have a distant future,

where minding manners, and respect

will make you kind and nurtured;

where all the pathways open up,

and you've made a great success;

...Or pick door number two,

and make life, now, a mess."

Of course our ****-sure young ones

will pick the latter door-

for partying, and breaking rules,

surely, there couldn't be more?

So to all the world, I say Nay!!

This is not the way for things to transpire!

What happened to change, and progress??

What happened to stoking the fire??

I won't support a mindless flock,

I will not suffer fools;

But most of all, I will not suffer

no education in our schools.

A forgotten shoe
lies abandoned on the floor,
your cracking heart too painful
to lean down and pick it up.
Her abandoned toys are just memories now,
trinkets,
lost to time;
the whispers of the little one-
once here,
now gone-
haunt,
and echo strangely-
mingling with the broken spirits
of the loved ones she left behind.
What hope there was
now takes a different form-
sadnesss turns to grief,
and grief to helpless anger.
Hands shake
with guilt and rage,
locked together in the fingers of other sufferers,
hearts swelling in solitary pain,
yet shared by all.
What is lost now
is still just around the corner,
though far from reach-
little footsteps still ring in the hallways,
peals of laughter bouncing off the now bleak walls,
where peeling paint remembers crayon scribbles
and unicorn doodles.
Wild manes still flash in the summer sun,
rippling like a mirage just out of sight,
but the windows reflect only cold light inside these empty rooms.
You've tried appealing to your silver lining attitude,
the one you wished you had,
attempting to comfrt yourself,
even when a smile is impossible.
Breath, steady;
your mantra continues in a voiceless chant,
hoping you don't forget to pull it together,
or else the heartache may riddle holes through your mask,
baring for all the world to see
how broken
and crumpled you are on the inside.
Smile-
she wouldn't approve of stern faces,
or somber stares at the floor;
Laugh-
she wouldn't want to see you cry,
those 'funny little dew-drops' won't bring her back.
Be strong,
as she was in her final days-
stronger than you ever thought a child of six could be.
Believe in life,
for her sake,
for Rebecca.

With patient hands, and caring heart,

a mother's love was shown

in the tender, stubborn saplings,

she loved enough to grow.

She listened to their tearful woes,

she kissed their hurts away;

She offered up the best advice

and tried to show the way.

She taught them well,

and scolded when they failed;

She laughed with them and played with them

and watched them blaze a trail.

She let them fall, she let them choose,

she watched them from the dark;

for a mother's greatest heartache

is watching them depart.

If not for the strength of mothers,

if not for their watchful eyes

the saplings would have shriveled,

curled up,

and died.

So here is to the mothers.

the ones that try their best;

know that we saplings love you,

to this we can attest.

Hopeful,
we cities are quiet
waiting for the news to come.
We sense the message
and the terrible waiting continues.
Alone,
we pray for release from
our cruel bondsman;
the mankind
that houses inside our stomachs,
disturbing the peace
with grief
and evil.
Waiting,
Waiting,
We listen as the walls crumble and fall
as they,
our protected,
will too one day.
We wait-
silent and hopeful
for peace
that comes with regret
at the cost of man's crown
and fur robe-
Weeping,
we cities know what awaits in the skies
and the seas
and the rivers,
in the very earth we are built upon-
in the hands of our youth-
guns
and rifles
and bombs-
words of venom and acid,
fearful loathing
and fretful tears
shed over the aging walls
that wearily stand tall in defense of a broken people's heart-
disgorging their rage onto a city
that can no longer hold their bursting anger
spilling out from our cracked barriers
and lashing like fire
helped along by a vengeful wind.
Our streets and markets bleed
for the young ones of the future,
hearing their pain
their terror whispered in unheeded prayers
screamed into dark alleyways
beaten from their lips as they deny themselves-
Oh children...
Our walls are too weak to hide you,
our guidance too frail and unheeded.
We cannot stand strong this time;
Forgive us,
forgive us as we fall to dust.