The uneatable is a mirage
        to those thirsty for an oases
of dream like delusions.

For nothing is waiting,
       Its only now that we
                 see idyllic reflections.

There aren't steps but a mirage
               of what our lives were.

Every step is our creation
                       to others dreams.
That we help with, our every
           reflection is there's to strive for...

when you no longer
are able to walk,
make sure that
your words will sprout legs
and travel to places
outside of yourself,
bringing you back only
evidence that they found
places to rest.

What if?
Part two of my what if?

If laws were passed to segregate the lighter population.
First, they couldn't handle it.

This is very obvious to many.

Many commit more crimes than the other races.
But cry mental issues when it comes to punishment of courts sentences.

What if?

All their businesses and land were taken.

History has shown they done similar things to others to accomplish their goals.

It's like a parable about a rich child and poor child survival in society.
Obviously, the poor child will accomplish living more.
Those without works under the phase-if I never had it.
I can't miss it.

Their friends aren't based around wealth.
It based on a whole different purpose.

From the Supreme Court down to the lower ones.
We aware of being known as a wealthy supporter of a political clout get you out of a situation.

This superiority isn't anything more a phase.
No one, no race is better than another except within your mind.

What if?
We was brainless.

I learn the most from those who do not obscure the facts or hide themselves. Why not be free with yourself, we are all beautifully unique. How can we learn and grow if we are not open and honest with each other? People can not make fair judgment of us if we do not expose our insecurities and being insecure does not make us weak, it makes us human.

her first cry

never   teared your eyes


her first smile

never   dimpled your cheeks


her first giggle

of joyous recognition

never   mothered your heart


her first word

never   tickled your ears


her first step

never   reached your arms



almost



a prayerful pause ~ spindles time

through its aperture ~ she has your eyes !

‘tho a minutest inflection ~ you see your face !

what joyous recognition ~ self ~ in-dwelt

her flutter ~ divinely felt



You named her   Grace



gv 18.29.3  18a