His Father Was the Ambassador to Spain
But he never saw his Own Sons Pain
He came to a spiritual retreat.....
With his Darkness to defeat
His anxiety Cut like a Knife
With no Solace in his life
He prayed over scripture Daily
But the Battles he was Failing
On a Dark Saturday Night
With a Dull serrated Knife
He took his Life, he kept
Slicing till it was Done
The knife to dull to do it in One
In the Kitchen of the Annex he was found
Lieing Still cold and face down on the ground
They rushed him to North Charles Hospital
Though Doctors battled it was Fatal
I walked in the Annex Door.....
And found Ruth tears streaming
Kneeling as she mopped up the Floor
The flood of Blood Red
Was all that's left of the dead
I carried this memory for 45 years
And still today the memory brings me tears
With all the Ambassadors Rich Connections
Nothing can replace the Loss of a Son
As witness to this, I felt I must Pen
So one small soul isn't forgot in the end

art isn't a thing
it is a fractured composure
misunderstood by defiants
yet rises to better expectations of reliance

art is praised
through the melodies of random kindness
through the pictures of story-telling
through the written speech of your imagination

art is a soul
that is purely intoxicated
pre-judged with mere perfection
consoling the lightworker in you

art is you
bestowed to eradicate mediocrity
created to being inanimacy to life
distinguished for an exciting simplicity.

Then I wonder what's wrong with that part of society
That wants to follow rather than lead
Inside there's a hollow part of me
That needs to be filled with something Godly
I'm blind
Desperate to see
One day I hope to be as free as the trees
All I have to do is believe

A blue black cloud, all over me is written JOY
in the script of vapor, dense, moist and meaningful,
I am light, like a feather, the breeze is in love with me for that,
I love his gentle persuasion to waft, move about, explore..
and then--ravaged by wind my love changes direction.

I love freedom more than anything, but forgot limits, hover
now, I am no more attached to the green hills, they are jealous,
far above them am I, untouched by their vainglorious pride,
I am not hard-hearted, parched fields send shivers of lightning
break me in to thousand  smaller pieces, scatter around.

My love for this earth is kindled by the sights unfurling below
all the egrets, cormorants, storks and herons of great magnificence,
those kind hearted friends that fly with me often are in pain
like the farmers, there isn't enough water for anything.

A cloud is a thought, inspired by the love for mother earth
by the ocean I am gifted to the breeze, to tour around,
on many lands fell my shade, found life in all varieties,
now is the time to be kind at heart, melt, fall in torrents.