How easy it is to paint people
With one color,
With one broad brush.
Over time the various
Colors on your palette
Swirl together to form globs
Of gray.
And now your monochrome
Judgement renders your world
A bleak, barren desert of ashes.
No longer do you see the world and its
People in its colorful splendor.
Some become acclimated to this dulled
Perception that has taken hold.
A perception that dominates the
Senses and gradually turns the brain
Into gray mush.
Undead they become, starving creatures
With the urge to devour.
To hurt.
No empathy. No compassion. No feeling.

Others, thankfully, know better.
Palettes must be cleansed regularly,
Layers of dried, crusted paint scraped off
With patience.
Then fresh paint is restored.
Fresh perspectives, encounters, and knowledge
Passed down by models to the artist.
Yes, we are artists.
We paint the world as we deem fit,
Plastering on others one’s own
Values, morals, and ideals.
But the true masters of this craft go beyond,
Discerning the vast spectrum of colors
That compose a human soul.

But that takes time.
Years of experience and keen observation.
But possible.

They tell me I should smile more,
But I’m just lost in thought.
I like picking at my scabs and sores,
Each one an emblem of the battles I’ve fought.

Some people find solace in Summer
With its mirage that all is right.
But I thrive in the chilled Winter,
Relying on my inner warmth and light.

Go ahead…

Call me a dark cloud raining on your parade.
Call me a moping miser wallowing in pain.
Call me a bloated tick thirsty for attention.
Call me a filthy sinner unworthy of redemption.

Flimsy words deflected by my impervious mettle.
Don’t you know steel hardens in the furnace?
Leave me be, let the storm rage then settle.
Only then will I break the water’s surface.

Afterwards, I’ll mount a drifting log and ride along
Down sorrow’s stream until I reach the estuary.
Where purity meets the brine from tears’ song
And entrust my fate to the ocean currents to carry.

Humanity always seeking absolute bliss,
Condemning suffering to fathomless pits.
But under the covers of sleepless nights
Amid the sobs, wails, and blistering spite…

Out emerges a self-revelation,
A subtle truth whispered in the dark.
Cathartic release through meditation
Only bestowed by sorrow’s mark.

They tell me I should smile more,
But I’m just lost in thought.

There comes the golden trumpet
With its boorish tune.
It claims that brimstone is falling
From the heavens, threatening
To mar all that is pure and white.
All are spellbound by his naked words
Stripped from the usual ethereal facade.
Promise of prosperity rings in their ears,
Since the land of milk and honey has run dry.
But wait…
Look at the hunger in his eyes,
A fervent lust for power and glory.
Look at his thin skin, orange and tempered,
Burning like coal in a blazing furnace.
Look at the cohort he assembled,
Corpulent swine from the swamp.
Surely, he has the mob in mind.
Throw chocolate to keep them quiet.
Put on a show to divert attention.
For the truth is glaringly clear,
We have been played for fools.

When the smoke subsides…
A repentant dog with its tail between its legs, ears back, comes out of the rubble.

Be a man
Said the father to his son,
Men don’t cry,
To this social construct we
Must abide:

Masculinity –
Equated with strength and
Emotional reserve

Femininity -
characterized by
Fragility and sensitivity

What if strength is much more?
What if strength has no gender?

Strength

The ability to be yourself
And pursue your aspirations despite
Social pressures and ridicule

Strength

To maintain composure and show restraint
When feeling threatened rather than allowing
Fear or anger wrest control.

Strength

To sympathize and tolerate
Those who think differently than you.

Lioness prowling the savannah
While the lions enjoy their slumber.

She twists and turns under sheets and covers.
Sleep evades her as fire burns her cold skin.
Darkness shrouds like tapestries of terror
Warding off consoling light –
“Let me in… let me in.”
Boards creak and nails scratch the walls
Inching its way towards its fidgeting prey.
A monstrosity stands before her eying the
Trembling body –    
“Let me play…let me play.”
It leans forward to her ear and whispers,
“I know what you’ve done, what a shame,”
Its serpentine tongue licks her cheek.
“I thought you were better, free from blame.
But you’re like the rest, foul and unclean,
A lump of mass and unfit to live.
Unworthy of redemption, so obscene –  
Let me give… let me give.”
Sobs erupt from her quivering lips and gasps
For air from the weight of her filthy sin.
It caressed her hair with its skeletal, scaly
Hands, and kindly asked to
“Let me win… let me win.”
But a streak of light from the rising morning
Sun sent Guilt back into the dark.
A new day, a new beginning, an
Opportunity for a fresh start.
But from the depths of what has been,
There it waits for you to
*Let it in… let it in

Pawns of a game, a guessing game, a game
Where chance rules supreme.
Dice roll with stardust, driven by cosmic winds,
with whim at the bow and wheel is its own entity.    
Everyone seeking cheap tricks, but to no avail, only
To walk a common road, traversed by paupers and kings.
How to win the game? Well, winners and losers are
Indistinguishable, like grains of sand to the naked eye.
Deceiving shadows loom about the playground.
What can be a rabid monster shredding flesh
Might as well be a mouse nibbling on stray kernels.  
There are no rules, despite the libraries of doctrine
And laws of man which change with the season,
Reflecting the customs of various regions.
Players argue at the round table as to what the
Objective may be.
Perhaps survival of the fittest?
To harbor joy while making a pittance?
To love wholeheartedly, for good riddance?
One thing’s for certain.
The game will end, some way or another.
Let’s have the thrill of our lives, while it lasts.
Let’s entertain the impossible before we pass.

There is a day when dreams are
Exiled, left to waste away --
The dry sands of tomorrow.
Magnificent dreams,
Too daring, ambitious, demanding,
Cast aside, in hopes that they’ll
Flourish on their own.
We’ll dream once more…
Tomorrow

There is a day when opportunities
Are swallowed by the tides,
And sink to fathomless trenches
Never to be seen again,
For there might be another one…
Tomorrow.

There is a day when unspoken words
With the potential to change a life sit
In one’s tongue, embittering over time,
Since someone else will speak them…
Tomorrow.

There is a day when the Earth will perish
By exploitive and negligent hands.
We were all aware of what was to come,
So let us amend our ways...
Tomorrow.

Somethings simply just cannot wait.
Perhaps tomorrow is a day too late.

Dress that can feed a village
For a hundred years.
Pompous talk, cocktail cheers.  
You wish she’d choke
On her caviar.
Your very best, always subpar.
Palace to house a single soul,
When you’re scrounging for
Coins to live off the dole.
You cringe at the sight
Of other’s success,
Secretly yearning for their distress.
Why, oh why, should I settle for less?
Their life’s a luxury, and mine’s a mess,
Even with all my sins confessed!
Envy corrodes the purest mind.
Cataracts, leaves you blind
To the riches you yourself possess --
Family, love, and health in excess.
And all along you never knew
That those you envy, envy you.

Hair gray, glistening with wisdom.
Wrinkles carved by life’s ordeals.
Eyes blinded by decades of vigilance.
Ears failing from listening to our distress.
Hands shaking, frail from lifting spirits.
Legs aching for always leading the way.
Throat sore from hours of discourse.
Back curved, encumbered by our worries.
Heart swollen with unconditional love

Friends come and go, but
In the most violent of storms,
Blood ties are life lines.

Water seeping through the cracks of the hull,
Creeping ever so insidiously.
Filling the voids, but my fate is sealed.
I sink.
Resentment floods my thoughts,
Quenching my thirst for vindication,
And I feel that time will cure all, yet…
I sink.
I’m clinging on to flotsam and jetsam
Drifting by, remnants of my pride.
But the waves keep battering, and
I sink.
Seventy times seven is too large of a
Number, or so I think.
How to rid of the anchor tethered to
My heel?
I sink.
Letting go of that anchor, a painful process.
You may have skinned me alive,
But I forgive you.
For if I don’t, I’ll sink to the depths
Of misery…. alone.

I’ll be ready with the palm leaves
Upon your return.
I’ll lay them at your feet as you grace
Me with your presence.
Crowds will form and chant your name,
For they know that joy has arrived.
Countless hours staring out the window;
I have memorized the stains on the glass
And made friends with the spider on her web.
If only I had a web of my own to keep you
Adhered to my side.
You said it wouldn’t be long.
You lied.
Memories sustain me.
Hope contains me.
Who do you think you are,
Toying with my sanity?
Ah, my soul’s keeper,
My grim reaper.

Some take cover from the rain,
But I know better.
I let it cleanse my
Grime-encrusted skin,
Layers upon layers of sin.  
I’ve tried to occult my faults,
But the rain knows better,
For it penetrates my guise with
Surprising ease, disarming me.
Bare skin exposed and I quiver
As eyes examine every sliver
Of who I am.
Soaked body with nature’s balm
Glistens when a ray of sunlight
Splits the gray clouds, as if
Assuring me redemption.
Some retreat when gray clouds approach,
But I know better.
My character, tempest-tossed,
Scintillates when the sun comes out.

Silent hill casts a shadow on the moon,
Even beauty has a dark side.
Pale face aloft in freckled night
Feeds me with random musings
As I meander along the quiet pasture.
Excavate the fertile earth and
There you’ll find sterile treasures
Outliving all that’s alive.
I stumble on my clumsiness and taste
The dirt on my tongue.
Strange how life’s ambrosia is so
Distasteful to its offspring.
Just like love, a cloying sweetness
That turns bitter over time, and
When it’s gone, an aftertaste dwells.
Still on the ground, I roll over to look
Upon the freckled night sky.
Fascinating how constellations
Are merely imposed order
On senseless disorder.
I bet the stars laugh at our attempt
To find reason where there is none.
And then there’s the moon,
Indiscriminately shining on even
The foulest of creatures, underserving
Of its generous light,
Although without the sun, it’d just
Be a tenebrous chunk of rock.
Alone, we’d be just as unglamorous.

Victory pose upon the mountain top
Where eagles soar at your level.
Arms extended as you let the wind
Celebrate your ascent to greatness.
The climb, treacherous,
But ultimately rewarding.
Take in the panoramic view of
The world splayed before you,
Far as the eye can see.
All of its secrets revealed.
Vast oceans to your left,
Rolling hills to your right,
The tundra left behind.
The sun, humbled by your presence,
Hides in the hills, orange and bashful.
Victory, oh sweet victory.
There’s nothing left to conquer.
Now what?

Angel wings blotched with ink
Pluck the feathers, let them sink
Down the depths of fleeting pleasure
What is good? Subjective measure.
Whitest linen hemmed with gold
Lined with rubies, red and bold
Dropped in mud, in realm of swine,
Even Lamb with sinners dined.
You who claim to be righteous
Free from blame, always cautious
To never break a moral code
But fail to love and the self erode.
Take the time to introspect
To empathize and project
A light for those who’ve lost their way,
For in their shoes you walked for days.
Soles wore thin, where to begin?
Strive to make sorrow grin.

Thistle ****** draw the blood,
Jolt from their timeless lulls.
Candle wicks singe the flood
Of ignorance infested skulls.

Watch the fair complexion
Be siren to their common eyes.
A god to provide direction,
The answer to their cries

Words sweet as golden honey,
But toxic to their souls.
The wise dismiss it as funny
Until the joke runs stark cold

Bigotry is their dole
Scapegoats on the menu
Brick walls they patrol
If you cross, they’ll **** you

Scrawny dogs lap up the brine
Of what’s thought to be milk.
Nameless number on the line
To cloak him with purple silk.

Once the throne is prepared
And the cushion well plumped
He’ll suction your air and
Have your humanity *******.

Gasping for fresh air
Standing on your tippy toes
In a sea of books

Come aboard tamed sheep.
Let us ride the bandwagon
Towards the high cliff!

I wandered around my grandparents'
Home and saw the forbidden door ajar.
Although locked, they told me to steer
Clear, one step in was one step too far.
The room was gloomy, draped in webs,
With a single painting on the wall,
Lighted by a flickering bulb, imploring
Me to flee from the painting’s call.
She looks at me with longing eyes,
The girl in the painting on the wall.
Alive she seems on her swing, legs
Dangling, holding a torn ragged doll.
She’s not alone, children frolic around
Her beside the lake and wild grass.
Yet she swings gazing intently at my
Soul, willing me to touch the frame glass.
My hands obey and reach for her world
And I find myself pulled inside.
I stood before the girl. Hey friend,
I’m Sally, she said, and smiled wide.  
We swam in the lake, played tag, and
Enjoyed a picnic, but the sun never sank.
Minutes rolled to hours and hours, days.
Indeed, time was merely a divine prank.
What’s your name? I would ask the other
Children, but none of them knew.
I’d ask where they came from,
But mumbles they’d only spew.
Sally I must go home! Please help me!
Don’t you like it here? We are friends.
Friends don’t leave, you understand?
Those who come, their stay never ends.
Her smile then twists to a fiendish grin
Revealing jagged, rotten yellow fangs.
Sally giveth, Sally taketh away, Sally
Stole my heart today, the children sang.
Wherever I ran, I’d end up at the same place,
Sally on her swing beneath the oak tree.
She then waved at the glassy blue sky.
My grandparents looked down upon us
With wicked smiles and laughing eyes.
You’ve been a naughty boy, Paul.
Now you’re in the painting on the wall.

Ants march to their empire
With the crumbs of giants
Along a riverine path
Sinuous like the forest nymphs.
The leaves gossip with winds
From Earth’s four corners,
Tales of how the mighty have
Fallen to the tides of change.
Fate sisters are dead, no longer
Can they tickle the fickle threads
Which orderly suspend the universe.
Streams of chance revitalize
The mundane gray horizons
That blanket industrial visions,
Where nails and hammers make
Love to each other, the mechanical
Euphoria erecting shanty towers
Bending to the gravity of need.
Pallid faces are mass produced
In the land of milk and honey.
They said this is where dreams
Were born from black ashes,
Yet only meek weeds were able
To sprout in such parched air.
An awakening is imminent,
Whispered the winds to the leaves.
The youth will fertilize the scorched
Earth with soft, tolerant hands.
Callouses will peel off with the
Soothing touch of promise, as
The old dead skin rides the dust.

Slug inching across to the other side,
What’s so near, apart, a mile wide.
Snap, and an answer you’d expect,
Moment of silence, an eon to reject.

Indeed, wine becomes finer with time,
The taste of patience, all but sublime.
Sour hours drag as the clock ticks
While nails nibbled down to the quick.

Frantically searching for your other half
Only to be impaled by rejection’s gaff.
Blessed are those who patiently wait,
For there’s always a fish for every bait.

At first it may seem not worthwhile,
Surely your reward will crack a smile.

In a chilled morning of Christmas Eve,
Among the bells and carols there was a groan.
Disgusted by smiles, revolted by fun,
If grouchy were a person, it’d be Mr. Stone.
An accountant for three decades,
Joy was drained from his now frigid heart.
He’d take a stroll every day at sunrise,
Numbering the days until his soul departs.
Senseless ruckus, remarked Mr. Stone,
As he walked along the crowded London street,
A season without reason, only mindless
Splurging, incurring debt and wealth deplete.
Hey there sir, want some candy canes?
Asked a little boy, they’re only one crown.
Mr. Stone leaned in with pursed lips,
Too expensive, boy, you ought to settle down.
Sorry sir, it’s just I have nothing to eat.  
Would you be so kind and lend me a hand?
Hmmm… I’d rather not, I despise sweets,
I’m more in the mood for something bland.
With that Mr. Stone continued his walk,
Traversing through an abandoned back alley.
It was dark and musty, infested with rats,
The perfect place for all his woes to tally.
However, a baby’s cry caught his attention
Which was coming from a dumpster nearby.
Mr. Stone approached the source of the cry,
And behold a baby wrapped in rags there lied.
Oh my, how can this be? Who’d do such a thing?
He took the baby into his arms covered in filth,
Astounded by her mesmerizing emerald eyes
And skin with a hue like that of creamy milk.
The baby hushed the second he held her
And gazed upon the eyes of Mr. Stone.
He felt his mind invaded and thoughts probed,
An electrifying sensation bone by bone.  
Suddenly he found himself at his childhood home,
Sitting at the dinner table with his mother.
You’re going to eat your vegetables, William,
If only you’d be more like your older brother.
He was then whisked to his school yard,
Pushed around by his ruthless peers.
You’re so weird and ugly, William Stone,
You deserve a nice clout to your ears.
Boom.
Now he’s in a field of snow and naked trees.
William, come make snow angels with me,
Said a girl with mesmerizing emerald eyes.
I’m coming Eve, he answered gleefully.
They laughed and played until sunset.
William, promise me we’ll always be together.
Of course, he assured her, together forever.
He closed his eyes, and he was standing beside
A casket, Eve resting in a bed of white roses.
I thought we’d be together forever.
Her parting was unbearable and corrosive.
Mr. Stone now stood with the baby girl,
Tears rolling down his reddened cheeks.
I thought we’d be together forever.
I’ve found you, Eve. You’re mine to keep.

That Elephant needs to shed some pounds
Said the Hippo to the Giraffe.  
You’re right, and abnormally tall, indeed.    
Did you hear that it bathes in mud?
Interjected the Bullfrog while savoring a fly,
What an absolute disgust.
I hear you,
Elephants these days lack class, incredible…
Exclaimed the Hippo as gas bubbles suddenly
Formed in the murky water behind it.
Funny thing is, despite its staggering size,
I hear it flinches at the mere sight of its shadow!
The trio burst with laughter, but was cut short
With a slight rustle of nearby grass.
EVERYONE RUNNNNNNN!
The trio fled for their lives.
A tiny field mouse emerged, amused.
Animals.

Ah, the contours of your head upon me,
Let me lull you with my soft touch.
Your thoughts trickle into my stuffing
Every night.
Please share with me your day;
There are no secrets between us,
As you whisper them to me.
I’m the basin for your emotions,
Absorbing your screams
Tears,
And laughter.
Fits of rage? I’ll be your enemy...
Pound away.
Hold me tight so I can comfort you.
I’ll be your companion whenever alone,
Projecting vivid dreams all night long.
I know you best.
Come lay your head and rest.

The drip of water down the water spout
The parade of white fluffs drifting about
The ball of the pen skating across
The flow of ink calling the shots
The clack of heels on the tiled hall
The scurrying of a roach up the wall
The wail of a child sickened by chocolate
The scowl of the mother for such racket
The round of applause after a performance
The snores of the old couple sitting dormant
The ruffling of pages in a quiet library
The thundering chew of a red cranberry
The mourning of a family huddled at a wake
The birthday song sung as he blows on the cake
The flap of nestling wings on its first attempt
The hawk’s call during a sweeping steep descent
The pulsating green beep of heart monitors
The screech that follows when the beat falters
The smooch of lips upon an orange sunset
The ring of wedding bells they'll never forget
The Earth a rich and colorful place
The Earth a blue speck floating in space

Who would I be if perfection is not attained?
A total failure.
Nothing but the absolute best is expected of me.
No room for errors.
One mishap and my world implodes and
Hell fire incinerates the satisfaction of my previous
Successes, meaningless if not prolonged.
Oh, rescue me from my acute addiction to praise.
I need you to tell me how excellent my work is,
Or else I will relapse into insomnia, kept awake
By my reeking incompetence.
I need you to remind me how wonderful I am,
Since achievement equates to my identity.
Strip away the accolades and I am a carcass
Starved by my bulimic tendencies.  
Never sated. I must do better. I must be better.
I want to make you proud.
I want to be worthy.
Can’t you see? I live for your approval!
Some say you learn from mistakes,
That they help build character.
Ha! Mistake? What is that? Sounds disgusting.

There were once Lands of Right and Left
Where mutual loathing brought bloodshed.
They disagreed on numerous things
Such as which hand one should use to eat,
Which leg one should start with to walk,
Or which hand one should raise to talk.
There was literally no time for consensus
Since the clocks ran in opposite directions.

But one fateful day, all hell broke loose
When the Baron of Right made his own noose
By shaking the right hand of the Baron of Left,
Wreaking havoc with such unforgivable offense.
How dare you defy us with such heinous mockery,
We’ll pour our wrath for defiling our sanctity.
It was then that blood began to rain outside,
Where a red river scourged the streets, claiming lives.

Cries for peace were drowned by thunder,
Egos were too hurt to excuse the blunders.
If only, if only there were ears to listen.
If only, if only there were eyes for vision.
But when tongues have the power and run amok,
Not reined by reason and empathy locked,
Surely nothing good will come about,
Only disunity and violence shall sprout.

Have you seen the old hag in rags
Mumbling nonsense in the town square?
Her odor so pungent, even flies gag,
A Medusa who petrifies with her stare.

Her name unknown, her story a secret,
The butcher claims she’s God incognito
Here to see if we aid those who need it,
Though doubtful, such torture He’d veto.

Gossip circulates the town at every corner,
But I know the truth of this old woman.
It turns out she’s the Duchess of Arbor
Who gave it all away to the poorest children.

The fools are quick to judgement impart,
But there’s an occulted truth in every heart.

Oh the horror, the horror!
My closet is full, yet I have nothing to wear.
I’m slipping into madness with the burden
To decide between medium well and rare.
If there’s another commercial I’ll surely die;
Can you pass me the remote with my fries?
WHAT! They’re not warm and crispy!
I can’t eat this…it’s too risky.
The show is over, now I have nothing to do,
I guess I’ll lament in the game room.
My life is in shambles; it’s falling apart,
I won’t be able to afford all the items in my cart:
Out goes the Apple earbuds, I’d rather have Beats,
Do I really need another pair of Gucci earrings?  
Sorry, memory foam mattress, you’ll have to wait,
Soon I have to make the hardest decision ever made:
Hulu, Netflix, or HBO on demand,
One I’ll have to sacrifice.
I wish you would understand
The misfortune that is my life.
You tell me to be grateful with all my bounty,
But clearly you are blind to my abject poverty.

How astounding would it be
If there were infinite copies of me?
In one universe I’d be a loquacious politician,
While in another, a reclusive mathematician.
So many possibilities, so many paths to take;
One decision can alter the course of my fate.

Have you ever wondered how life would’ve changed
If you hadn’t overslept and had your day rearranged?
Or that time when you had the choice to make that trip
But opted not because your grandmother was sick?
Would you have met the love of your life?
Or be mauled by a bear during your hike?
You could’ve been inspired to pursue another career…
How baffling that a single choice has the power to steer
Your life in distinct directions,
Making more and more connections.

A network of probability with no limitations, with no bounds --
It’s a mystery of how that choice could’ve turned your life around.  
Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve are merely illusions,
Seize the day, or you’ll be caught up in delusions.
Maybe it’s consoling to believe
That another you had the courage to dream.  

But surely it doesn’t have to be that way.
This reality is yours to form, where only you have a say.

The starless night was lit by a blood red moon.
Tendrils of fog invade the air in pursuit
Of the living dead who walk among us.
Door by door it creeps.
From every crevice it seeps.
Hungry for souls drenched in evil
Conjurers of suffering and upheaval.
The hour has come for retribution --
Iniquity will face its execution.
Gravestones tremble at the passing of the fog,
Awakening the dead from their slumber, years long.
Skeletal hands tear up the earth,
Groping for those who revel in hurt.  
Wolves howl in unison as the army of death
Marches forth to gather the wicked in bed.
Help us! Scream the vile vermin
While being dragged across the coals,  
We plead forgiveness for our sin,
Have mercy on our souls.
Deaf to their cries, the dead carry on
To bury the evil so that it may forever be gone.
The dead return to their graves at morning’s call
To sleep with the wicked once and for all.

I’m falling
Falling
Falling
Down the abyss of dementia.
Caressed by darkness.
Entranced by silence’s lullaby.
Sing me the song of melancholy.
Play me the tune of self-loathing.
I want to dance to the beat of regret,
An eternal replay of past mistakes.
Leave me be! My tongue yearns to lick
The wounds that adorn my decaying body.
Let me swim in my beloved salty
Lake of tears,
A cistern polluted by haunting memories.
I’m surrounded by multitudes, yet
I’m utterly alone.
Alone.
Or am I?
What is that you say?
The key to my chains has been in my pocket
All along?!
You’re telling me the pain will mollify
Once I remove my hand from the fire?!
Ingenious.
What a brilliant proposition.
I’m the captain of my own ship, and it will
Sail to wherever my heart lies.

Hair gray, glistening with wisdom.
Wrinkles carved by life’s ordeals.
Eyes blinded by decades of vigilance.
Ears failing from listening to our distress.
Hands shaking, frail from lifting spirits.
Legs aching for always leading the way.
Throat sore from hours of discourse.
Back curved, encumbered by our worries.
Heart swollen with unconditional love.