Deep in my psyche
Broken contacts spark
Faulty connections
Between my brain and heart

So many traumatic incidents
I somehow survived
Violent childhood
Prison life

Over and over
Throughout my life
Surrounded by thugs
With guns and knives

Losing my children
When they were quite small
Is the most traumatic
Experience of all

I fought to hold on
In the face of adversity
Prayed for death
To escape a grim reality

Then I discovered a switch within
A way to shut down and try to mend

Flip the switch of fear
And now you're brave
Flip the switch of emotional pain
And now my heart is lame

Unfortunately over many years
All that negative energy reappears
Shadows and voices
Paranoia and indecisive choices

It feels so good at first
Yet to switch it off
In the end is a curse...

All other seasons usher their expectant Mother--
lay her down, and let her be.
Her's is a great birthing...paean of the eleventh hour.
Air blown lukewarm, honeyed...showers soft as
tears that place the face of growing significance.
Inbreaking rumors of life to be, the exultant charge,
moment of creation split green, thus created to divide
but moment ago where none was.
Early fires of greenery...the irony lost on nothing--
the harshest season precedes the gentlest.
Analogous to the truth of hope, where from the dead
of winter...a flower.
Broken open its color as tangible light, to it--the bee's
figure eight prayer, partaking thereof.
The rampant crisis of consciousness creature to newborn
creature, all immersed in the golden wave of renewal.
It's as if a standing ovation burst in a monastery...
what's been withheld in the making is withheld no more,
Mothered by Spring.

Heartened by the
merest of motions...
that set the
eyes for inflow...
outflow.
Whose standstill's
in the Heart
of All.

You gave me flowers
And the thorns had stung my hand
And you said roses
Were the flowers for a special kind of man

I held them tight
My hands bled and I never let go
It was worth every moment
Because the pain helped me grow

The roses had died
I  had realized a little too late
Because now you're gone too
You and the roses shared the same fate

And now I stand at your grave
With tears and roses in my hand
Because you said roses
Were the flowers for a special kind of man...

My poems are my life
They make up everything I am
They are what make me human
For my heart beats in every one

My heart has bled many times
And it continues with each word
Each line that is written
Is a new scar within my heart

Every phrase I create
Is another crack upon the surface
But every poem I complete
Is a wound that has been healed

My heart will never give up
My heart will stay beating
It will continue to bleed
and I will keep writing.

By Arcassin Burnham

Like I said,
There is no need to hide
Ripping out your entrails,
Punished for your betrayal,
You will prevail,
To be an enemy of Mine,
now thats pErfect grammar
Cause I'm actuaLLY attending to care to diss you,
The ******* unfit mother you are,
You should be in the slammer,
Your kids wouldn't miss you.
**Now Thats Perfect Grammar

I feel myself slip and it's agonizing like cancer
I've lost you in slow motion
held too tight a grip and you're put off by the notion
that we share in the fault or reap all the seeds and start clean
for the days where we flourished go unwanted or unseen
still I feel the words you think in the softness of your breath
they catch in my throat at night when you sleep I dont find rest
but play my guitar for a girl who likes all the sounds
though time unkind sees us both displaced yet still around
I serenade only laments 'cause I'm weak in my stance
and I've spent all but a bit of myself just for a chance
to see your flaws as openly as you would have me see my own
enough bloods been let, yet the daggers in your eyes cut to the bone