I see deep
inside,
the world.
My vision
is an eagle.
Even if I
went blind.
I can still see.
My heart
bleeds,
seeing
the young
so desperate.
Because love
is the hardest
feeling to find,
or to even
keep.
Like an A.
You may begin,
but to keep it,
you have to
do the work.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

As a kid i thought i was so bright
that my thoughts and eyes held candle to moonless nights
Big dreams slowing my memory like an over loaded android phone
Back then, dreaming was my sin, my only felony
But years and age walked me into reality
Then i realized, there is nothing wrong with dreaming
The only wrong therein is not waking up to live it.......

this is a rant
on who the painter is who paints a white canvas.
who makes it blank, all the same?
Who paints with one color, the confused?
My painter, the one who created this canvas
this universe this creation
paints with many shades of
variance. He paints not
one nation, not one race, not one star, not one season,
he paints
many faces,
many days all different
many nights some dark
some radiant.
He painted  us the colors
of all of heaven. Gave us the many shades of gray.
He painted a sunrise yellow of goldest glow,
a night to see the day with a new perspective.
He painted choices right
and painted us the freedom to choose.
Trees of many green with barks light and dark
some are white. All are right.
Remember who painted this.
He painted a sky
not always blue.

C.O.D.

Love and amity
was an overwhelming flow-
exuberant, really.
A down, predatory, swaddled  
thing,
that conjested this valueless space.
Repressing me in it's hurry to maintain us together.

© S.T. Rebel of Eden

Black and ebony wings
of crippled suspension of
-consciousness
enduring into the great extant
-something

while your convoy of words left
in animation of wilted air
dine me your codex
because in your world
this is completion.

© 2014 S.T. Parish Rebel Flower