I stood here
Amongst the grey underneath a vivid
Rain,
Mist gathered like a flock of
Wet embers on open flames,
Existences.
That a cloud broke
From its tears
And left the suns
Long stride holding dear
The moment;
That I stood beneath
A crimson shade;
A bittersweet grace
Among the days that end
In the afterglow of life.
For whatever reason
A gratefulness yearns.

A story is a motion of words
whispered many times,
each  syllable different for
                         those that hear it..

Pictures are emotions that linger
when others have passed
                                 into the distance.

And the silence between us,
You and the world,
Me and the crazy,
Chewing our nails down to
The bone
Breaking neck paranoia,
With the high so low
It bottoms us into the normal
Where nothing makes sense,
The loss of the addiction
Leaves us in the confusion
Of the world.

clearly, I lean to the left
walk with a pre-existing tilt
that in the halo of the House of Republican's
vote this week, might cause me to be
labeled a high health risk,
they also see me as
Alabama senator Mo Brooks labeled
as antithesis to "people who lead good lives"
and therefore strike me down with cancer or something.
He sees a way to waive health-care mandates
and save money, so those in the top 2% of income
can get a tax break.
Wake up people , rapists are running wild with false rhetoric and
you elected and pay them.
I have no choice in Alabama. The right is entrenched and
the education system is wrecked. Corn fed cows
pigs and ***** guarding the sheep
have more of a conscience than any elected official here.

when words have wonder seem to
glow like the dawn over a mountain
a soft hush lush forest growing slow
on the edge of the portrait
and a meadow calls to you
out of the corner of your remembrances
cautious you tread the
path  leading on to not misstep
go beyond the boundaries
of the essence
very soft shoe mocassin
crept
tiptoed holding breath
to see nature's beauty unfold
there right there before
you in all it's glorious
colors smells glory
what stories do you tell
your children young
the myths of a theocracy
or those of the mountain queens and forest kings
the wise brave animals