what barrier stands between the heart and it's truth? When a person looks through a focused prism, shades of black and white Fall Away. Vibrant colors appear as driven by emotion. The desire of their heart will glow in radiant light. Love is a spectrum of the rainbow, it knows no race gender or Creed, it bypasses hatred an animus to give the heart what it desires. So in a world that is cut in the Hue of black and white, love is the dazzling Spectrum of color that is laid out like a field of wildflowers. It shines in the bright sunlight and wants to be seen its truest form

I look down at the blank paper and wish the pen to write. In frustration I lay my head in my hands. Slowly I fade into sleep only to be awakened by the sound of music. I turn around to see a man playing a lyre as another paces back and forth. Puzzled for a moment ,I look around the room. From one corner I see people who are vaguely familiar. My eyes return to the person Playing the music and suddenly I know it is David, while pacing next to him I see Aerostotil. Over at a simple wooden, table I recognize Shakespear chatting with a brash fellow I know to be Mark Twain. In confusion I stumble into Lord Byron, who is reading work just written by Dickenson, she sits in a chair idly brooding waiting for him to declare what he thinks. In a Mad Dash of confusion I quickly turn around, and I fall as the house of Usher's and come crashing to the ground. A well-dressed gentleman offers me a hand and picks me up, he has a dark and piercing stare. I ask where I am, and Mister Poe quietly declares, you're in the poet's room. You have found your way here, I asked him how and he says I'm truly not sure. He says this is a place where people come to share ideas and to watch one another's work. I say that I was frustrated and could not will my pen to write. He laughs rather smugly with an impish Delight. He said that is not the purpose of writing, he says you cannot will it to flow. He says look around you and tell me what you see. I said I see great writers, but he said they can be just as frustrated as you. He said Each one can tell a story, and he said that something that you must learn to do. So the room again to fade into a fuzzy Hayes. I woke up from my slumber and look down at the blank and dismal page. It suddenly dawned on me, but I must look around. For if I want to tell a story, then it must be found. So I got it for my table and took a walk outside. There I took a really good look at the World Grand and wide. I didn't set off on a journey with the lessons that I've learned. A story can't be forced, it must be earned. So when I return to my desk, with paper and Pen in Hand. I shall no longer be so frustrated for now I understand.

Satan has risen or at least that's what she said, as high heels are tossed at my head. A lamp is broken and a vase of shattered, then the curtains are ripped. She screams that I'm the anti-christ and that this is the apocalypse. I have no idea what I've done wrong as I stand there with a befuddled look. She screams how dare you forget that my parents are coming, is that why you forgot to cook? I scratch my head idly as she points her finger to accuse. I would speak to defend myself but then she has a whole rack of shoes. So I wait for the storm to abate, and then I give my phone a quick look. I noticed the calendar date and a message reminder that says I should cook. As she's filling up a bag with some of her shoes and clothes, I Ponder if I should tell her that today is not the date. I then calmly decide that I'll just quietly wait. As she finishes filling her bag, she looks to me as if I should speak. She asked if I have anything to say for myself, I just Shrugged my shoulders as she begins to leave. I know that it may be kind of cruel for me not to say anything. This is not the first time the storm has blown through or she's made this mistake. So I'll just let her go back to her mom and dads and when she finds out that dinner is next week, she'll be feeling really bad. As she slammed the front door shut, I just gleefully smile at what's coming next. In an hour she'll call me begging for forgiveness, and then we'll have fantastic make-up ***.

**** black high heels and Silk Stockings she can be oh so enchanting. Treat her badly and she will become sarcastic and demanding. You were drawn in by her dark blue eyes and Raven hair, the sharpness of her blood red fingernails made you not really care. Then she steps on your manhood would that ****** high heel, she berates you as inept and you're not sure how you should feel. So is this the enchantress, that cunning and seductive witch or is she just being abusive to you because you caused her to be a *****?

Dew drops fall upon radiant skin, as the morning light breaks the horizon. I lay between supple breast content in lifes rapture. After the veil of night wrapped us in it's shroud, our passion was as a brief burning star. Now that I have walked in your fertile garden and planted a seed, I am comforted in your arms. Skin on skin our bodied share a radiant glow. All of my burdens have melted away and you are now my only desire. In a few brief moments, we have torn down all barriers and you have become the vessel of our future. So as I lay with you, I listen to you breathe as life takes hold from heated passion, as the morning gives way to day, all I know is that I am where I long to be, simply in love with you.

Flight from Fear as women and children are bound together by a tapestry of desperation. The walls of reality have crumbled like a story in some dusty book, it tears away any hope of salvation. Herded like cattle, from one gate to another, from one place to another. With wide eyes filled with fear of the unknown, their tears have become arid and dry. Screaming for a hand to reach in, they look on Beyond distant Horizons at fertile Plains, and desperate hope that help will come in time. Meanwhile, the ones that foment hate and unrest are behind them like a flood of Terror and before them are those who have engorged themselves on the wealth of the world. They stand behind High walls and iron gates with signs that say you're not welcome here. As the two points are squeezed, the unwashed masses in between lash out in anger and frustration. Turning backwards and forwards, then inwards on themselves. Where does Hope lie, they Howl in desperation. As the bodies fall and the stench Rises, apathy is the only reply they receive. Who then will be their salvation, and who will be blamed for the Lost Generations that remain in limbo while one group debates and another rages and hates, and neither does anything to help?

I thought you were my bff, then I find out you're trash talking me! You berated me on Twitter. You posted my not so hot photos on Instagram. My boy friend just broke with me via text message. Apparently you have him thinking I am a ******. I would just get over it, but letting go has never really been my thing. I'm more of the Revenge type of person, but then you knew that already. I guess that's why I've been unfriended so quickly. Now that my social calendar is empty, I'll have lots of time the plot. Though I think you're not done with your ragging, it's that time of month for you is it not? So I'll kiss our BFF selfies goodbye as I delete most of my files. By the way you have some unimpressive photos so this might take a while. I can still feel the knife twisting in my back, so enjoy your moment of Glee. It won't be long the tables will be turned and you will no longer be ****-shaming me. So get yourself ready because I'm about to become that ***** that you always said I was. Don't try to deny you did it and ask pity from me. I don't know why you just didn't cut my throat you see.