The blood of the youths run
Luminous  through the night
Pulses with passion
Races with heartache
And desperate to fill the lonesome
Desire flows in the night air
And the moon,
The moon it stays white and pure
And it watches all of these things
The youths think they have to endure
Mindless fun for some
Sore pulled strings for some
So close yet so far?
Is this who we are?

Beyond the late night adrenaline
Are streams of pretending
The darkness enwraps us all
In a blanket of delusion

hearing Shakespeare,
my-own-voice
crack'd, stilted,
stuttered-shut by the
mocking silence of still
waters on the brain

poverty exposed,
raggedy verbiage for a
raggedy man's
frayed fringed garments

ashamed of
every word I ever wrote,
not even ten survivors,
not enough to pray collectively
for muse~forgivement

****,
hush me not,
no chairs turned,
the public has not texted,
new tattoo:
write on for audience of one

a necessity, a life sentence

a single topic, a subject,
a life, mine,
still unmastered,
decades of trying

poverty exposed, unmasked
for what it is worth,
or what it is not

Brave little woman,
                                                  petrified she'll never fit in
perhaps it's her unique perception of the world,

                              or the colour of her skin.

But do not keep it all within,
                                      
                  ­                                      for the tears staining your rosy cheeks
prove you not fragile nor weak.

You are, my dear
                                                               the essence of Picasso's landscape,
                                

                                 now splattered with violence, corruption & strife

But darling have hope,                           

                                   there is far too much chromatism on this earth

                     to bathe our minds in black & white.

I am living just a moment in rhyme as I go about my day, I think about rhymes that won't go away
My heart beats in synch with the song of a bird
I think of sweet words
At the end of the day, I say Good Night sweet rhyme
It is sublime living a moment in rhyme

"I'll wait for you,"
when we were kids,
you had said.

But Jack's still comatose
and Jill is dead.

You never came.