Behind the lines,
On every a face -
A story to be told.

The furrowed brows,
Or bags under eyes -
Tell more than just how old.

Is the make-up there,
For looks alone?
Or to hide scars of past?

Is that smile I saw,
A genuine gesture?
Or to keep emotions cast?

Is that child happy,
Innocent and free?
Or hiding his pain from all?

Where are you headed?
With your focussed stare -
Purposefully striding tall.

Do you long to dance?
With your walking stick -
Do you miss the way it felt?

Are you as kind to her,
As you appear to be?
Do you really make her heart melt?

Who is the main character?
The one it all centres around?
Or are we all meant to be,
Just members of a crowd?

Miss Polly
had a dolly
with fries and radishes.
Washed down with a large glass of jolly,
it was delicious !

i wanna kiss you
in the crowd in new york;
in the crowd in disneyland;
in the subway in front of many people;
the hallway at school;
and in the wedding hall

.          IF I WERE A POET

                             The
                     First stanza
                     would be a      
       magnatic attic captivating
            Elegant architects of
                     iridescence  
                        Vividly
       propelling pupils to edges
                 Of the schleras        
        Compelling pens to pages
                    of new eras
    

            IF I WERE A POET
                                
                         ­              The
                              Second
                 Stanza would
             Mirror Zues's
          spear slicing through
        tears drowning in clouds
         striking fields of pens
                        Egniting the
                    capsules of
                 Variegated
               Lands


            IF I WERE A POET

                            The
                     Last stanza
             would sail summers
           tame winters bathe in  
         springs of autumn praise  
           deeds of the monarchs
           reigning over raining
           rainbows nurturing the
         clouds planting wings on
       the ground giving free will
          to plants to seed the sky  
           with warmth and love
                of nature's heart.

she wails
estranged
my unknown mother
tears on the Kenyan graves
i feel her from my corners
a thread pulled taut
from the web
of my citizen soul

If I could live a thousand years,
I’ll never find another you,
For no one else that I could meet,
Will make me feel the way you do.
    
If I could cry a thousand tears,
I never would get over you,
For no one else could fill the void,
Nor make up for all we’ve been through.
    
If I could best a thousand fears,
I’d still be scared of losing you,
For no one else will take your place,
Within this heart that still beats true.