A vessel of infinite imaginings woven
in the kaleidoscope of innocence,
seeing you for that moment,
as life breathed you into my arms.

Fluid motions of gratitude, as noses
met and a smile versed on daddies
eyes. Wonderment that this innocence
had a mothers beautiful eyes.

You were a little box of crayons,
the randomness of your expressions
drew smiles upon a grateful parents
faces, gazed at you with gleeful reflection.

You were a gift to our memory, a story
to verse on your years yet to pass.
Your our little box of crayons, waiting to
see which colours draw upon our lives.

If it isn't popular, if it doesn't speak from some
Religious text, many men will ignore it.
There is nothing worse than not being Christian or being gay,
I'm hated, I'm ridiculed, I'm forgotten, I have no friends.
All the world knows this is the same at all ends.
If you aren't Christian, they act like you have AIDS.
In secret they avoid you. Some Christians are the worst haters,
They always point out how "sinners" are supposedly haters,
It does say in the Bible to avoid those who are non
Believers when it comes to being close friends or on
Any level other than business. I can see how Christianity
Breeds hatred if you must witch hunt others in the process.

It's ok if you want to believe in God,
I won't stop you, all I want is a second
of your "ever-knowing time," to explain to me
how you figured out that we're all supposed
to know where we came from because of some
superstitious statement and some written signs.

You long for death and in that moment, his loved one has died and his tears stain her body and his love has drowned out of his heart;
You say it's not worth living, and her father has passed and along with him, goes her soul, her happiness, her life;
You ask why you were born, whilst others cannot conceive and weep of humiliation whilst the pain of them not being able to have a child haunts them forever;
You hate your life of riches, yet the suffering of those with nothing echoes around the world and dances through each of our ears;
You complain of your house being too small, whilst there are kids screaming of fear and pain without shelter, their safety has been taken away from them so harshly;
You hate your shoes, whilst another is walking barefoot on glass, with blood drenching from his body;
You complain of your parent(s), whilst a young orphan girl is drawing the pictures of her parents with chalk on the ground, and all she wonders, is why they were murdered so inhumanely.
You hate the world, for all the wrong it has done to you, whilst another has been stripped of their freedom, *****, and made to lay lifelessly on the ground;
You hate the new toy bought for you, and yet, a young boy only has one toy to remind him of his now murdered family, and his screams from his nightmares echo the jungle in which he sleeps in.

And in the time they mourn, and she draws, and he screams, you complain.
Appreciate the life you are given, for you are strong enough to live it, and many others can only wish for the things you have.

Lobotomizing my emotions
so not to fall on a sabre of
indecisions that haemorrhage
in my capacity to foresee.

I am a rendition of contorted
ambitions that I want to dissect
upon a realization that all is
not I wanted it to be.

Asphyxiate my breath, cull my
words so not to expel the true.
My reflection will be deducing all
that fell silent in vain before.

A casket of broken views in what
was once elegance, now but cut
to thin shards of what it once was
a home. Now all but skeletal because
the view sullen in there departed thoughts.

Windows to the soul of a home desolate
in greetings, a ragged cloth does wait static
as if the wind dare not to tamper indoors.
But only cartilage of wood is viewed from shores.

It still wanders on the landscape in static motion,
doors still shut to viewing but in tarnished notion
once  in elegance it was perceived but no more.
As it sits abandoned, dilapidated is its décor.