It was dark the sky was green.
she was in a black hood and dark jeans, armed. ready.
One with the night, she flowed thru the streets,
and tree branches easily.

A dark face of only shadows - her mission was justice.

It was dark the sky was green
there was fog
putrid smells
subtle wind singing songs
Nature at war with concrete
mumbo jumbo
alien human cancer creatures
what a mess they have created,

A dark face of only shadows her mission was justice
as she came upon a red bricked home
ranch style, long, open yards
bushes and trees
singing
the wind was singing
she was there.

the roof was still made of shingles.

Armed and ready she approached the door
realizing at this point anything was possible
but she had chosen justice
and revenge
as her only possibilities
as the boot  hit
the door, falling

and the revenge had no choice
but to begin.

The cool wind was a delightful touch.
Gentle, upon my face.

I walk when I am lost.
Ultimately, I just want to find a way
somewhere, surprising.

Every time,
I come home temporarily soothed,
and collected.
Observably more inspired.

Yet I am still lost.
Now more than ever
lacking a purpose.

Tomorrow, I may walk even longer.

Life is meant to be appreciated
honored.
Celebrated.

We are told to express gratitude.
To be polite.
Optimistic.

yet we are expected to live
to work.

and work
to live
for decades
upon decades

until we die

with nothing

but scars from working
and not even really that much money.
materials that mean nothing.

and younger versions of us
that were trained
to live and die the same.

how can anyone really be optimistic?
Unless they are of Noble descent.

but that
is an entirely different story.

Broken moments
are ideal times
to write poetry.

When the heart bleeds
And all one can do
is organize the carnage
in such a way that may fascinate
another broken soul
harboring similar frustrations.

He works
Every day.
I see him there
Every time.

He tells me
That he has no life,
And I pity him.

Every single day,
Those stupid plad shirts,
Smoking a cigarette if it's not too busy.

Every day,
I see him
and he tells me to never lose my youth,
Because he lost it.

He says to go on adventures in his honor,
So I do.

I blinked,
And it was all over.

The Simple times
Have burnt to ash
And all that remains
Are questions
That will never be answered.