You tried to burn me down
I was wood in a fire
I was kindling drowned
In gasoline.

You tried to burn me down
And you did
You burned and burned
Until I was reduced to charcoal and ash.

What you didn’t know was
Charcoal makes art
Charcoal inspires others
Charcoal is art made from ashes.

We’re all puppets
With scripts to follow
And strings attached
Whether we like it
Or not
Blinded by their lies,
Surrendering to illusions,
Pledging to the Puppeteers,
Above us

Tied to coarse string at birth
All we know is
Curtains hanging
To keep
(Protect, they say)
Us from
Reality

The ones we willfully
Placed on their gleaming
Ruby-encrusted thrones
We gave them wine
Made from our blood.
In Return,
They changed
Our veins to sap
Our flesh to wood.

And so
We, the People
Politely clapped
And nodded.
We, the People
Supported the idea of banishing
Our own kind.
We, the People
Cheered and yelled when the Grand Puppeteer
Ordered for us to be
Isolated and confined
From the Others.
Welcome to the Land of the Free!

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

I refuse to be the moon.
I will not merely reflect the light of another.
Standing in the shadows.
I was born to shine and spread my own light.
I will light up your sky.
And you will feel my heat.

Crack-ling, vivid energized flames,

Burst into unthinkable shapes.

Sparks of golden glowing waves

Warmth reached, desires unleashed.

Unknown senses surfing, breaching,

Spheres dancing,  shifting places,

Heat devours,  dense blood flows,

Mood changed, passion grows,

Obsessions melt away in rows.

Time stands still. Fire within

Entangled in a labyrinth of dreams.

Imagine going to a cliff
And jumping off to die
Hoping that you somehow grow wings
And that in a blink can fly

Now, shut your eyes
Do it again
This time, you make the leap
Is the cliffside still as steep a one?
Is the water just as deep?

You're a writer and you do this jump each day
When you post your words and rhymes
You put yourself where all can see
And can comment on your crimes
You took the leap, you're airborne
And sometimes you will soar
At other times you'll crash down to earth
Where you started long before

Now, go back to the cliffs edge
Write some words and sail away
You're out there high in the ether
And if you're good that's where you'll stay

Commitment to your writing
Accepting what the others write
Make you go and keep on leaping
Until you know you've got it right

You're a writer and you do this jump each day
When you post your words and rhymes
You put yourself where all can see
And can comment on your crimes
You took the leap, you're airborne
And sometimes you will soar
At other times you'll crash down to earth
Where you started long before

Go now, jump...make it a good one
One where you feel the wind as well
where you can see into the future
And where only you can tell

Each poem you post is gone now
You make the leap each time you post
A poem is something living
Unwritten ones are only ghosts

You're a writer and you do this jump each day
When you post your words and rhymes
You put yourself where all can see
And can comment on your crimes
You took the leap, you're airborne
And sometimes you will soar
Now, go, create and you will see
That you can with less fear than before.

“You have to move, get up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“This is sad you need to get over yourself.”
“I’m broken, and I don’t think I can be fixed.”
“Then fake it. Get up and put on a smile.”
“It hurts too much; I just want to cry.”
“No crying! It’s not worth it.”
“But I just can’t let go…”
“You have to move on. It’s the only way.”
“Please, all I want is five minutes to let it all out.”
“You’re pathetic. Fine. Five minutes.”
“Thank you,” said the heart.
“You’re welcome,” said the mind.
And the heart and mind cried together.
Just for five minutes.

Leaves crackle as she slowly steps
She enters the glade, her magic she preps
She listens for the sound, first soft then strong,
This music is the Faerie Song

A smile creeps onto her face
As she observes the spider weaving her lace
This creature trims the gowns of Dryads
The velvity green of summer they add

The wind blows and they bow their respect
Their rustling applause goes unchecked
She pauses by one revered, acient tree's heath
And pats the small fawn resting beneath

On she glides, though the mists of twighlight
For ahead she sees a scene so bright
Dancing 'round an enchanted flame
Are the Faerie people, frolicking without shame

She steps into the light and all goes still
She throws back her hood that kept out the chill
The Fair Folk all bow as their clothes they brush clean,
"Welcome home, Fair Lady, our own gentle Queen!"