Mother,
Oh dear woman,
Please rest,
And May your heart be satisfied.

Proud,
brave as I am,
But you're never proud.
Though others,
By virtue of conformity,
May be lavishly praised,
And celebrated amongst your circle.

Mother, bring me close once more,
Put aside your fear,
Acceptance does not give way to damnation.
But love will free you
From this blight of hatred.

I pray you know,
That I may give
A love true, brave.

You fight me, mother
And I am so burdened
I hate, yet I love you so deeply.

The pain I endure
It shapes,
Teaches me a beauty.

I pray I may give,
What you have forgone:
A brightness and hope

Mother,
Comfort me,
Hold me tightly as before
When my screams brought you near,
And your best...
...An understanding.

A child,
I wander and learn,
And still you fear
But you cannot alter
Else what will I become?
I am no slave,
And your desires are your own.

Acceptance,
It will never **** you.
Love,
It will never implicate you.
Your avarice, zeal...
As you hate,
You are condemned

Collectors and thieves,
Were no less welcome.
The almighty's table,
A reminder
Where love forgave,
And brought me in.
Do you get it?

Who you turn away,
Who you blame and forsake,
Who you would sacrifice,
For your penitence

I am forever your child,
And You are forever my mother,
Against what do we fight so hard?
Ideals? Decisions?
How silly,
And how profane.
He who will judge,
One day,
Will laugh at your justice,
As penitence has already been made,
And will bring you in regardless

my town
where wild flowers grow
between tram tracks.
there was a time when
it was hardly morning,
no bridge into daylight.

walls had ears,
neighbors had eyes
whispering behind the curtains
there was an emptiness in the guts
of the city
and poetry locked in the drawers,
Borges was read under the blankets
while Dostoievski was  a comforter:
demons were embedded.

yeah, people were clapping and smiling
watching the nub of history, numb
they had a life to live,
what can you say?

one day the radio
burst on in the streets
some were shivering in the attic
"we are free", they said
"we are free",
came the echo in trance

"shhhhh"! said others,
let us wipe the blood
don't disturb the sacrificed
so we can sleep
without dreams

it's Thursday in my town
streets are weary
and our souls are
slowly expanding

I'm in love with someone's daughter
living in the shards of a broken home
Cutting herself on two year-old letters
These are moments she can't fake;
reasons to feel alone
So used to abuse, her tears start to shake
I hold her close as her head starts to ache
"I love you too much,
so I can't let your heart break."
She said, "I know you love me,
but you've made a mistake."

I never meant for anyone to be my pulse.
I promise not to step on your feet
if you teach me how to waltz.

I can't even write
Because my minds pre-occupied
Worrying about you
Your will to live
If the skin is split
Upon your wrist

when I wake, will you be there?
Or was the weight to much to bare?
You know I'd bare it all
For the beautiful girl who made me fall

So in love,
But I'm never enough,
To take that weight off your shoulder
You're going uphill carrying boulders
And I cant do anything but watch

With strained eyes,
As the love of my life
Is losing her mind
While I sit here and whine
Because I feel so ******* helpless

Why can't I save you?

I saw the old man circling the tree trunk
Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands
and piercing blue eyes

He seemed to study every knot and crack
in that ancient timber

Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel

The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high

Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took

Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still

Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art

At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad"

I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway

With no plan or picture he had made the start
And created the perfect work of art.


So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge.

No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique