Some writers are like comets,
A flash, and soon gone;
Some that burned brightest,
Are rocks that don't burn long.

Some writers are like meteors,
Burning hot through spheres;
As meteorites they stay with us,
Though brighter in younger years.

One writer, Leonard Cohen,
No brighter light revealed;
Still yearning for the fire,
Still burning all these years.

glass slippers
lost forever
in a world where
no one sings
no one dares
and no one dreams
only puppets
ride their strings

hiding faces
without traces
of a single blemish
or anguish
****** like walls
stemmed from calls
of unproductive falls

shapes and sizes
epitomizes
love so lost
to hate embossed
wary a world where
trust would die
consumed into ashes
where heroes
once lie

faced by reality
without the possibility
of ever having tranquility
is a sad feasibility
in this ever-growing incredibility
of a world without sound durability

must i go on with my mockery
or shall i show you reversibility
continuing this charade of nobility
we are but dust in anonymity

I am flying up to love
Soaring high upon the heavens
I can not fall into love
For love can not spiral
And tumble to the ground..
It moves upward to perfume
The air of it’s mist and magic
It lives to guide the stars in their
Twinkling warmth and brilliant glow..

Any definition of love
Will surely be met with
Utter failure
For love itself is its own definition
No measure of words can reason
Its existence into being
No science nor art can definitely declare
That love is this or love is that…
It is neither here or neither there…
But love fills the heart and feeds
The soul of beauty everlasting…,
Of peace that reigns in the bounty of nature…
A canticle of colors that can not be seen
But can be felt by the nakedness of the human
Vision…
Like the breathtaking display of the northern lights
That captures one’s imagination and attention…
A certain calm that possesses
A sort of liberation from the drudgery of this world…

So love only for love’s own sake
And do not equate love with material
Things or possessions..
For love indeed, can conquer,
If it conquers at all…
And there is nothing more that one needs
If one is to live
A happy and fulfilled life
Than  to love fully and truly and be truly and fully
Loved in return

Because I had loved you before I was thirteen
Because I had loved you throughout my teen
You stole my virginity: you deflowered me
Surely, I have composed and quieted my soul;
Now, I am like a baby about to be weaned

Because I have loved you so much
Because love can make us do and say crazy things.
Now it’s  impossible to love another.
Because I am the dark angel with heart shaped wings

From the warmth of her womb
to a wooden coffin
the cloth of her **** laid lifeless
Gone to soon, gone too soon

The pain was more than she could bare
after losing her only son
to the rough street of Chicago
where the kingpin rules
and the prosecutes parade
the dark corridors in dark suits

It's a mother worse nightmare,
when the law enforcements,
is train to **** and asked question after.

In fear of their lives,
however, two wrongs,
cannot equal to right.

Our judicial system defenses team toss
them back to the mean street
with only criminals intents on their minds
another careless proceeding gone wrong.

so, here I am
back to the crime scene