What would you see if the world flipped round?
Would the wall come crashing down?
Or could the sky fall down in shame?
At the loathing destructive game.

Under, Under the monster calls.
Writhing for the small foot falls.
Flashing teeth of molten red.
Would would save the victims head?

Once again he rumbles on,
Still the watchers pass along,
Dreading once a sniveled cry,
The little shrieks, no more like whines.

Above it watches for glorious meal.
A final scream and snap and peal.
Once running scared the little feet.
Revel in the devils defeat.

Under, Under the stories go,
With fright, sorrow, and doom below.
But mighty mighty is the strife.
Now go and save just one more life.

Rich, dark soil after rain
Fresh brewed coffee with just a drop of cream
They want sky blue, aquamarine,
Or deep forest green,
But all I can give is brown.

Smooth, chocolate truffles
Hot cocoa on a bitter, snowy day
A ten-year-old boy's mudslide onto home plate
A freshly washed teddy bear

The world tells me these are not beautiful.
Instead they want a polluted, grey sky,
Or littered grass.

My eyes are strong bark,
And sturdy oak.
They are ancient roots reaching into fertile soil,
Out of which sprouts life.
Brown is all I can give to you.

The little light bulb is small and meek,
Not comparable to the bright, florescent lights
In the least.
For years it has been sitting on the cracking counter,
Unseen and unused,
Its dust goes to waste.
Its light has been refused to be seen.
It was not until one day,
When someone’s light finally burned out,
Or perhaps it was never lit,
Did that someone come across the abandoned bulb in the attic.
Its glass surface chilled his skin to the bone,
But he looked past the dirt and plugged it in.
Light bulbs can be so fragile,
And they can’t shine forever.
It just took one spark of electricity,
One touch of his hand putting it in place,
And the light bulb ignited into warm rays.
Safe and secure in its socket,
The bulb is still vulnerable,
But comforted by the heat.
Please don’t drop it or
It will break.