Inside of us you should always reign
with poetry given the main game
the lamenting heart of a stars heart
like chorus in a distant land
echoing through your star lite chamber
Compassionate parts of poetry of tomorrow...
Capable of infinite sorrow
expressive eyes that see
such kindness
as much as me...

To be special in an indifferent world
makes no difference in your million years
In the mire of your worlds
you hang on to every syllable
when hurt comes in shades
you write and weep in your poetry...
A poet's life, not understood
many shake their heads and go
as each poet's days on paper are born
carrying a message to another's day
the immortal message maker of beauty
fires the souls of God's art, that cries for me...
Through my poetry my heart has grown
contacts are many that share their life
seek their poetry through each strife
sweet to all our visions giving air of love
surrounded by a blazing sphere of sweet doves ..

The Butterfly is blessed with beauty and grace.
The Spider is eerie and withdrawn.
She flutters around to find Her perfect place.
He captures the heart of His next pawn.
Their souls never finding peace.
One day, He sets His elaborate trap.
Frightened and out of the whim,
She is caught in His web and a sudden hap!
The unfamiliar face captivates Him.
His world comes to a cease.
They look into each other's eyes,
Both hearts beating as one.
He sets Her free and sends Her to the skies.
She is left to be stun.
Her own feelings begin to increase.
These two creatures are different.
Their love was forbidden and never to become.
Despite the belligerent,
The devotion begins to succumb,
And the sorrowful souls were release.
"Please merciful goddess of the moon,"
The begged and resort,
Fearful that their passion would end so soon.
"Do not **** our love in sport."
Wishing the hatred would decease
The answer was to be entombed.
Their love was certainly a hider,
And from the start it was doomed.
It was a love between the Butterfly and the Spider.

I’ve tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
“you can’t wear red lipstick”
made me believe
I never wanted to in the first place.

for every time instead
I’ve stained my lips with cherries
learning how to tie the stems
so I can slip forget-me-knots
to the back of your throat—
do you feel my restriction now?

the razors that fly off my tongue
perk thorns on my skin,
another down stroke on my wrist
will teach me that
you were right,
shyness is a virtue.

no need to speak,
go spend one hundred dollars
and some percent for tax
to cover up,
even though I’m sure your mother told you
that cotton stains.

so make it black.
get your hair stuck
in the zipper of that sundress
and pray as you pull it out
that it will lose its pigmentation
in the process
mark a down stroke
for killing two flowers
for one bouquet.

hold it
close your eyes and throw it back,
I know we shouldn’t be wearing white anyway
but tradition can take a lot out of you
like what you really think—
don’t say **** in public.

instead drag your first impressions
all the way to the altar
and dress in your Sunday best
a flower on your lapel
clear on your lips
a stroke for the neat decline
of the son

I tattooed a line across
the veins of my wrist
and marked a down stroke
for every time
my image
was my fault.

Oh Lord Our GOD, You've Being our Dwelling Place In All Generations. Before thy Mountains were Brought Forth, or ever, You had formed thy Earth and thy Word(World), even from Everlasting to Everlasting, YOU Are GOD.. You turn Man to destruction, and say return , O Children Of Men". For A thousand years in Thy Sight are like Yesterday when it past, and like a watch in the Night. You carry Us Away like a flood, we are like Sleep, in the Morning we are like Grass which Grows Up. In thy Morning we Flourishes and Grow up, in thy Evening its cut down and withers. For we have been Consumed by thy anger, and Your wrath we are terrified. You have set our iniquity before You, our secret Sins in thy Light of Thy Countenance. For all our Days have passed away in Your wrath; we finish our Years like a Sign.... The days of our Lives are Seventy Years, and if by Reason of Strength we are Eighty Years, yet our boast is only Labor and Sorrow, for it is soon Cut Off and we Fly away... Who knows thy Power Of Thy Anger? For as the Fear Of You, So Is Thy Wrath. So, teach us to Number Our Days, that we May Gain A Heart Of Wisdom Oh Lord Our GOD... Return, O LORD! How long? And have Compassion on Us thy Angels... Oh, satisfy Us Early with thy Mercy, that we May Rejoice and be Glad All Our Days! Make us Glad According to thy days in which You have afflicted Us, the Years in which we have seen evil. Let Thy Work Appear to thy Servants and thy Glory to Our Children.. And let thy Beauty of thy Lord Our GOD be upon Us, and Established thy Work Of Our Hands for Us, Yes, Established the Work Of Our Hands IJN... GOD Bless.!!!