I sat on a hill one morning
6:00
One morning

The foggy blue sky
Became
A melting red strawberry
With a pinch of peaches
And coffee cream
Painted on the sky

The grass freshly wet
From the morning dew
Oh I wish I could put it in a tea cup
I would sip it all up
Down my ribs it will go
Painted on my lips
That'll do...
A sad tree leaning on its lover
All the others looking
Jealous
Of the love they hold
On the tips of there wooden fingers

The sun coming up slowly
Burning everything with the word
"Beauty"

My fingers sinking in the soft dirt
Reminding me of my morning coffee
Riding up to my nails

The morning of the day
Putting the haze and daze
In my eyes

I think of her
And her green,brown,beautiful eyes

And I drown
In the earths tears

Even if you cannot shape your life as you want it,
at least try this
as much as you can; do not debase it
in excessive contact with the world,
in the excessive movements and talk.

Do not debase it by taking it,
dragging it often and exposing it
to the daily folly
of relationships and associations,
until it becomes burdensome as an alien life.

God, beautiful God
your savior voice converges
from every direction
but your deafening song, adrift
in a thousand siren winds,
carries flickers of fear to my
spread-open operating table self

how those hands work!
forcep fingers draw red lines
and pluck out the worms
once planted by ache

casting aside swathes of skin
and blood-slick baubles of silver,
you pull out my pearls
and put me back together

crossing my burgeoning breast
are threads of saintly white
my paragon body immune
to pain and love alike

when Eve ate the apple
she did it every day
to keep the blessed
doctor away

The other day my mother told me
I should be a writer.
I did not have the heart to tell her
that I am everything but a writer.
I hear too much in silences.
I think oceans are often lonely,
and trees don't always want to let go.
More than half of my books
are less than halfway finished.
Someone once told me,
"You're too young to be so old",
but I didn't notice,
I was too busy losing things
I never had.
I'm not weak,
I'm just broken.
Most days are overwhelming;
I often think of not existing.
You should try it sometime,
it's peaceful knowing you don't
mean anything to anyone.
It's a shame sadness seeps
through fingertips, otherwise
one day I might write; even though
I am everything but a writer.

"I love you."
those three sweet
meaningless words
always find their way into my head
and roll around like they're stuck
in a box
moving from house to house
never really finding a place
to call "home"

and i wish i could get the idea of you
and those three words out of my mind
but you’re stuck there
as much as we both hate it
and each other

day after day
you’re still there
in my veins
in my bloodstream
my pulse spells out your name

I haven’t washed you from my sheets
out of fear that my body
will miss your slight touch
or out of fear that
I may be forgetting you
and I don’t want to
but I need to

and if you look closely enough
to the scars on my arms
they tell a story
in chronological order
of how I fell in
and out
of love
with you

(a.k.)

Dear God,
Are you there?
If you are,
Please hear me out.
I'm not perfect,
And you've already done so much for me,
But please do this.
Please save her.
Please make her healthy,
Because I'm scared,
Lord.
And I'm turning to you,
Because our worldly things aren't enough.

I think about my ancestors, how they were treated so bad.  I think about the toil they suffered, it really makes me mad.
I think about the people, who knew  they could lend a happen hand.  Some just set idly by, this too makes me sad.
I ask myself a question; what can I do to correct the past?  I believe I have the answer; one I finally thought of at last.
I must never turn my head, to those who are looking for help.  I must do my very best, to see that love is felt.
I must never look away to conditions people live in.  If I do, it would only be a sin.
By, Sandra J. Nailing

Roses are red,
Violets are Blue.
I am going to bed.

*Will you come, too?

You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
Still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.

We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for

Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead

What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
Nothing
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history

What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates
Consumerism
Greed
Selfishness
Hypocrisy

Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it

We dealt the death blow.

We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
Inspiration...
comes from the metaphysical heart

The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we

We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through

We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
shallowness
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition

We are the hollow men

We are hollow
We are... despairing

Despair
why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?

Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?

I. Loathing

i would’ve torn you
a few new
if you knew
what i’d seen,
with eyes sewn
when i was shown
too soon.

II. Contrivance

The substance i walked through,
in dream this morning,
was most magnificent in composure:
crunching under one’s foot
like snow, or like sand,
but not cold to the touch,
nor did it stick when wet,

&& although the white tiny particles
poured out of the mountain,
on the side of it we walked,
holding your little hand.

I knew down the stretch was a beautiful beach,
where this substance,
met a glistening body of water.

Your animal was loving, just as you,
&& although your name surprised me,
i was in love to hear it nonetheless.

Your father had not yet arrived,
&& in your absence,
i left a tiny piece of my heart,
in your notebook.

The sign on the bus said “Omaha”,
and it seemed so familiar,
but my memoryscreamed
somewhere like Mqt, Ca.,

&& although i didn't acquaint with the other troublemakers
on the back of the bus, as i waited, i watched.

You came up to me, and our embrace
was so warm, your tiny ribs against mine,
beautiful brown hair in my face.

How strange it was, in this sun bathed dream,
when you should tell me your name,
i should not understand it at first,
&& asking again, focusing within your fortunate eyes,
you told me exactly what i should need to hear.
&& ponder i did, although
not without first telling you how lovely it was.

III. Realization

It seems you and i
have both fallen short
of our prospective places
in Babylon.

For i have not grown
into the man
you once dreamt
i should be,

and you are no longer
the lovely girl
i once thought
i would marry.

You and i are free to be
what we are; without
persecution or judgement
from one another,

but we both must understand
the waves we created
when our dreams and realities
did not actually coincide,

&& perhaps the dreams
that i have had, and still am having
are just ripples
from a past that didn’t happen.

IV. Peroration

You're no longer the dreamer
i fell in love with,
&& i am no longer the dream
you thought you once loved,

but please may we
free our hearts and release
all the contempt
we hold one another in?

It’s not your fault
you were everything i wanted,
and it wasn’t enough
to quell my soul.

please know though,
we need not hold knots,
and let our cold spots,
and ill thoughts rot; within.

it’s not my fault
you dreamt me so;
with weight unfelt in this world,
but i am only a feather.

We are free to be
if we only freed ourselves to be,
We are no different
if only we freed ourselves to be.