There is a Reaper whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

“Shall I have nought that is fair?” saith he;
“Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.”

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.

“My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled;
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.

“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.”

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
’Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.

we collided under the wet-paper smell of the moon, threaded through the black grass.

there were no stars to see us, wild and crying;

i was cold for the first time in my life that night.

the moon’s color was our color, and we shined

icy bright, cycling and spinning through the wind like

so many machine parts and restless breaths.

we are so strange and perfect.

so bleak and so breathtaking.

shoot me.

shock me.

kiss me.

**** me.

i have separated myself into such disturbing places, such

dark corners,

the air sparkles with fresh beauty every time i come out to breathe.

and this is not home, there are no stars,

but each moment sees me more alive, and glad.

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honor bred, with one
Who were it proved he lies
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbors' eyes;
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disablèd
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.
    Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
    Save that to die, I leave my love alone.

When night came to end this day
The heat of noon's sun
Still warmed the stoop,
Squeals of children at play
Silenced before blue glowing tube.
A mind's check list of chores done

Recalled the nagging ones left
While a moth dancing in the light
Cast a shadow on the wall
A display that would cost his life
Still, braved heat with dogged will
'Till overcome, dropped from sight

Burned in another flame
Thoughts of love long away
Days dancing a lone waltz
Man and moth flit the same
Now sit and await the stars
When night comes to end this day

Dark whisperer, uninvited
You have come
To know my heart
To ******* lips
To claim my soul
As a traitor to the sun
I turn and desert the world
All I’ve ever known
Comforted by the sound
Of a silent beat
The rhythm of eternity
Pacifying uncertainty
As we walk a nameless path
That none have ventured
To fathom

We live in a society where a simple glance shift  the way we are
Drowning  the child living in our souls in a sea of prejudice and lies
Stifling his fearful cries in a whirlwind of deception
He re-appears as a 'man' like they say
A person who's leitmotif is security
Too scared to face the unknown ,
Too coward to fulfill his childhood dreams
The desire to be alike becomes so extreme
That he destroys what god gave him and made him so unique
Every single one of us is a part of the all mighty
Which makes us special in every ways
We are fruits stemming  from various trees with a specific taste
Spurning that gift is like removing a part of ourselves
Admitting that we are weak within
Stand for it and you'll become a source of inspiration
A well moisturizing uncountable souls about to faint
Don't be afraid of what they think
Be free
Be you !

She sits alone, with her pain
Her head is hurting once again
These injuries she suffered long ago
They always come to haunt her so
Hurts so bad, she wishes to die
But the only thing she can do is cry

There is nothing anyone can do to help her
This cursed pain will haunt her forever
She sinks with her hands to her head
Agony making her wish she was dead
This pain never seems to go away
Like a nightmare here to stay

So my friend, I will always be here
You need never suffer alone and in fear
You do not have to suffer on your own
No longer do you have to be alone
I know this pain will never end
I care, because I am your friend