Caution! If love hurts you are doing it wrong.

The truth may hurt
Only if we listen
Will we be free

My thoughts in this fierce world are to brutal in truth for the Lions den to handle.
Your facade gives you weakened followers who know no better.
When the thinker speaks and followers listen, then this is when the truth becomes feared.
The truth begs and makes you not only see, but face the reality, the reality which you fear so deeply, the reality that you can not see by your own.
This is a brain washed society,  with few hopes nowadays.
Don't be a follower,  don't feed this negative energy being used to shut out hope for a better you.
We need encouragements for our selves, our lives, our strengths.
To believe in our soul and speak only with our heart shows the greatest of all beings, a true being.
We need not the "fear to think" we need to display our thoughts and need to fear the resentment towards a free thinking society before it is too late.  Please help show others there is hope and it is never too late.

Thoughts come and go
The body burns, yet soul carries on.
Words engraved on paper,
Tattoos engraved on skin.
Both thoughts of the inner soul
Pleading to be heard, to escape.
To be understood during its short existence.
Papers color in age, get brittle,
Become hard to read.
Tattoos fade through the years,
Become less a statement and harder to understand.
although time on this planet is short,
The soul will carry its message for eternity to come.
Like a perfectly placed tattoo engraved to this world forever.

Rain drops fall from the tree top.
Tree top drips, from the leaves above.
Recreation of a storm that has already gone.
Fall from the clouds rain to be captured again.
Again to the wind, carried across the darkest sky.
Land on a limb falling like the tear from a saddened eye.
Tree tops cry, winds go by.
Fall gentle my tear, like a drop from heavens sky.

You are wind,
You are fire,
The flame that burns to my creative soul.
Are you created?
Are you gifted?
Or are you just a thought?
Maybe you are magic,
The way you bring a visual to your readers with a few cleverly chosen words.
Who are you? Poetry?
I ask who? Are you?
You run through my veins,
Deep in my soul.
I live for you, in you, with you,
Just to share part of your name.
Poet, am I?
I am, poet I am and if not then poetry set me free.
For without your title my words mean nothing.
My words, not a message no more.
My words now just a mere conversation blending with society and it's normal ways.

Rhythmic beats,
Rain drops fall.
-listen to them all

Steady in pace,
Not missing a sound
Hitting my roof,
Hitting the ground.

Wind like an orchestra,
Howls from the side.
Rain crashing on my window
Like hitting a cowbells side.

Trees shaking,
As drops hit their leaves.
Making beautiful tones,
Sounds of tambourines.

Rhythmic sounds peacefully there
Painting pictures as I sleep,
All night I could stare.