Little girl in the dark, with covers up to her chin.
Eyes wide open, heart pounding.
Don't go to sleep, it will get you!
She strains to hear it coming.
Make sure all is covered but the face.
For I must see what is going to get me!
If I don't move or hardly breath, maybe
it won't see or hear me....

What is that in the closet?!
Eyes straining to see the horror
that is surly going to get me.
Don't move, Don't breath!
Don't let your foot fall to the edge,
he will grab you and pull you down.
Keep your hands covered,
because he waits under the bed.

NO! you can't call your mommy.
Stay quiet little one,
for he will get you!

I see it in the closet.
I see it moving towards me.
My heart beats so fast.
Oh No! I hear it breathing.
Was that the closet door?
A silent scream strains.
Shhh  Shush! He's coming now.

Don't close your eyes,,
you need to see it coming!

Little girl in the dark.
All covered in blankets.
So frightened, waiting for it.
No moving, no breathing, NO crying!
For then it will get you.

Little girl in the dark, so tired.
My eyes are so heavy,
but I can't sleep, for it will know
and come for me.
Oh God! help me!
I am falling, falling asleep.
And it is coming,
for I have fallen asleep!!

Mother am I beautiful?  No, you are pretty, just pretty....

Little girl behind the old rocker, in the corner of the living room.
So very quiet, so very sad.
So often forgotten and never listened to.
"Oh, she is just shy and a real momma's baby".
What a shame, she has no voice. Are you sure she's okay? You know....

The prison of silence they put her in.
Each cutting word stole more of her voice each day.
One day she just gave up and her voice was silenced to all.
Words were never  uttered in her prison of silence.

Each day she stayed a little longer in her own little world.
She tried to make it perfect but sadness would creep in
and her unheard tears would flow again.
Somehow she made it through her young years,
and grew up into a woman or so they thought.

Little girl still hurt, silent tears still flow.
And a smile that hides more pain
that you could ever know.

invariably long speeches
full of thoughts
empty of ideas
to improve a failing nation
with harmonic discrepancies
platformed and supported by
blood painted canvases
framed by the wailing
of those inflicted with the disease of war and politics
( those pitiful necessary evils)
no second thought
emanates from those wasteful
vain men and women
no. no second thought emanates to empathize the eternal
sadness wrought by their selfish actions;
this son of a dead man
is brought to you by
the politicians and CEOS
(sick warmongers)
in Armani suits and Rolexes
who seem to walk out of time
and they will send him
to the same fate as his father
never fully understanding
the complex waves of emotion
overriding and rolling over neural thoughts
just another face
just another body
just another life
now just another number
pitifully printed nameless
in wasteful
paper news

1 poet,
0 thought;
Wordy,
Often
Reaching
Deep,
Pens
Obdurately
Excessive
Mi­ssives.

Surrounded by people, I feel so alone.

Left in a hole, deep dark and cold.

My hearts on my shoulder, looking to leap.

But defenses are high, there's no place on my sleeve.

I know it's not right, not safe.

My past and my fears keep me acting this way.

What needs to be done is screaming at me,

That talk show's on mute, And reception is fading.

Change may be a constant, for better or worse.

I swing between them though, like a pendulum.

Some improvement, then slow destruction.

The highs and the lows, it comes with the turf.

This is my gift.

My Curse. 

Calamity is a storm of icy rain and striking fires.
Casting you about in a boat of your own design and build.
Preparing for the approaching storm with a firm rutter.
And you will survive, only if though willed.

Calamity is a renegade goat of raging fury and slyly forte.
Hammering its way into you aiming for the throat of your own girth.
Heat and eat hearty meals to be able to retort.
And you will survive, and be of worth.

Calamity is a surprise, you cannot see it’s approach.
So be prepared and well-equipped.
Stomp it out like a fire or upon a roach.
And you will survive, through your own wit.

Your handshake
is about as firm as a thousand year old bridge
and thats when I realized
you were crumbling