Death may come,
to some sweet souls
we know this -
much too quickly
there in a flash,
- in a heightened dash-
perhaps not even sickly,

Oh how that fate-
so mercurial,
it doesn't tell us -
so often why,
as we gaze in daze,
upon our solemn dead,,
an throw our hands up to the sky,
we ask of our dear stars above,
just why'd they have to go an die?

As we are really sad for only just ourselves,
we're just not ready to be done,
so stuck there in our bad goodbye,
still looking for the shining sun,
parting is such sweet sorrow
when it's with the only "one",

To leave the lovely Earth,
a blinking eye,
before to grasp a changing thought,
to look up in a changing sky,
for the answers dearly sought,
or even only wonder why,
it wiped away a life so fast,
and suddenly-
it seems for naught,

Her people they not with her now,
as she lay so broken and forlorn,
until the strangers come to call,
her death-
it was perhaps just a chance to warn,

To expire in a cul-de-sac,
as they circle 'round her now to grieve,
watching as they march as one,
to see the only way -believe,
believe me,
they come to only bid farewell,
not to punish or a bone to cleave,
as the body fails,
gone away - a binding heave,

As a rolling tube of rubber brings
about the ugly severed end,
and a hard black inflated reality,
it comes around the final bend,
barreling down on a tiny female life,
no hand to hold-
not one to lend,
but the birds they came,
with a message we should send,

Harbingers come in the quietus here,
they come to dance in sacred feather,
an some say rare and very strange,
and predictors of the coming weather,

I think that might be true, I do,
but what do circling wild birds
really tell?
circumnavigating the dead of Earth,
while in the sadness do not dwell,
and still I'm sure they are afraid of those tires,
but those fears they only quell,

They circle round to pay respect,
an she an enemy in their eye,
still they only ferry her,
an wish her home
a last goodbye,

A ritual of death and life,
performed before the alter,
a spirit sighs -a soul she dies,
her body could only falter,
death may come,
they fear it - not,
and I believe they still-
believe no hell is hot,

How?
How do these wild wild birds,
understand better than we,
some how?

Ma Cherie© 2017

Be pleasant,
avoid anger
at all and any cost,
it is the weakness
deep within us
that fuels the fire
to what is lost.

Ma Cherie © 2017

I was born a writer see,
an I feel it like a bone,
an I have so many stories yet,
and some skills I've yet to hone,

An I intend on writing long,
until my eyes no longer see,
an I intend to tell you here,
until my soul is free,

I am but a poet true,
with a story yet to live,
an so I will tell in words I share,
an my everything I give,

To the craft that we all
share in here,
in the Poetry an lines,
an for the faces of a people here,
in a light that ever-shines,

From those lovely shiny silver souls,
with such understanding hearts,
and yes such very brilliant minds,
an like poetry in flesh you know,
well it really takes all kinds,

Of such different types of people,
in those "classes" so they say,
yeah I am but a poet true,
and I'm glad I am today.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Deep silence
Restless peace
and my mind started chattering
about the eeriness of the surrounding
The sun's down
and everyone's home
Me and my shadows
walking through the meadow
The sky's starlit
but still darkness meet
I shiver through my skin
Watching the night spin
Searching for answer
As I see moon slowly disappear
My eyes stay wide awake
as I see morning about to break
but my thoughts still remains unclear
tinged with fear

One thing I learned
in my long college career
is that
I don't know a thing

I cannot read minds
nor fix this world
I still fall back to
this broken poetry

The place to be
we thought as youth
though in this life
it's a choice we choose

where you desire to be
is a figment of reality
a plan so mismal
to the burning sun

What faith you lack,
oh guilty one
on this track of life
you chose death!

In this college degree
I learned to see
not through intellect
but through emptiness

Poetry flows like gentle tides
before a hurricane
her sandy shores
anticipate

Three jumps left
and two jumps right
the lord speaks
and I follow

Milk moonlight of divine delight
silky sheets of satin rose
nerves underneath
emit electricity
and birth

Lovers in my past
don't leave my mind
their faces exist
etched in time

Sink like a stone
through deep waters
fall to her blackness
and the dark sea's wonders

thin skin, a lighted hook
neon guppies glitter
in florescent
store light

Take heed when he calls
for the depressed ones
in your life
call

Always help
those in need
for you never know
when you, it could be

Solomon wrote
songs and poetry
they flowed from thought
as divine symphony
of what does this teach you of women?
Solomon had the most
of any man

Be true to yourself
and your dreams will come
not the dreams you've planned
but the one's- you stumble upon

I hauled clay
for days
to fill the deep
washout of our love
and all your old loves
who bled to death
too, I even searched
the cold evenings
of your eyes
and ran my fingers
through your moonlight
while tasting the blood
of strangers on your lips
but I would have
to have a backhoe
and a crowbar
to finally get down
to the heart
of the matter at night
and in the rain
though I'm afraid
I would only find
a deep dark cave
with blind starfish
like those I see
swimming in
the cold sky tonight.

I woke up this morning
In the middle of the night
Saying to myself
such a dandy plight

Every thorn has it's rose
Every brier patch it's hare
Every Monday has it's shame
for the weekend it bares

You can buy salvation
for a dollar a shot
During happy hour
So much redemption why stop ?

All the glasses
in a row
Why they call them shots
I already know

Every thorn has it's rose
Every brier patch it's hare
Desolation is one after another
Until you just don't care

I had a dream I die
I ride a taxi into hell
I'm sweating but my driver is kind
He taps the meter when I arrive
Says, "pay up," gently
There is no tax

A flock rises from the magma
My eyes narrow from the heat
They glow as they sing
and cut me when their wings spread
Red hot and beautiful
Birds made of knives

Where does hierarchy begin?
    Is it where the strong is on top,
and the weak step upon?

Where does your dignity be placed?
   Is it where your always be the winner,
no matter what, even it has bitter taste.

Is SURVIVAL really that cruel?
That some of us are just a tool,
a fool for the strong to be cool.

No, it can't be that bad
yet reality is quite sad.

Despite our hard beginnings
Life still is beautiful
that losing isn't everything.

Dignity is placed -
where you respect yourself the most
and Hierarchy isn't important
to where your love is...

© Pax