T Rex thought he was the king but truly he was no such thing
he was a bully sad and weak who prayed on those to young to speak
Then came the day when baby Trice
got to close to Rexies lair
Rexie thoughg his luck had changed and now would play the Rexie game
Which was to take the young and weak
so soft and tender, good to eat
Rex thought I will have some of that
the baby trice will be quite a snack and fill a corner of my tum
But Rex had made a big mistake, oh dear a grave mistake
For round the corner came trice's mum weighing a bit
more than about three tonnes
Three big horns upon her head
One jab from those could leave Rex dead
She gave poor Rex an evil stare
said "Bite young Trice if you dare"
Then I will deal you a mighty thump
and I promise you your bone will crunch
Poor Rexie backed away in fear and in his eyes salty tears
People thought for many years that Rex was king and had no fear
But they didn't know Triceratops,  the bravest dinosaur of the lot

today is the day
when i come down
down all the way
under the ground

to meet the stuff
under my skin
to look at what’s real
hiding within

like some kinda street gang
they all hang around
“Fear” is the leader
he’s staring me down

right beside him his backup
**** thugs never quit
“Guilt” and “Envy”
starting their ****

i throw the first punch
ready to fight
when along comes “Anger”
and that blinding red light

i judge my tactics
not a safe bet
i’m attacked without warning
his name is “Regret”

People look for differences that aren't really differences; rather distractions, from the truth.

We are all created; equally capable of Love and Hate. Preference or variety aren't means for discrimination, they are means for development and understanding.

If it were up to some people; every rose would be red, and only grow the way they want them to grow; any other color would be killed and treated like a ****.

If they ony knew what they were missing...

everyday my mind wonders why ?
the sun lifts a head
      wind breathes in bones
               new seasons arise
morning is born with the death of night
my soul cries songs naked from mountain tops
     a secret sight
               a spirit alive
[a past drifting in too many tears to loose]
ghosting times far beyond try to...
understand the small bits of truth
     quietly
          seeping
               through
                              .

whispered from a far
fairwell, gentle knight

quedar en silencio

que le traera
si a ella no desea

pianga, pianga

le fleuve ne s'arrête pas

the willow set fire
on itself

three feathers blown

via
via

va via

shattered mirror
eres ella

the spell of the tower

trois plumes
il suo cuore

a willow
drowning

dans le tourbillon

whispered from a far
fairwell, gentle knight

it was but
the waves

haleter de papillons

delusion

whispered from a far
fairwell, gentle knight

she is
nowhere

erronée
ma credente

endless road to
a dock in a bay

to become a poet all you need is time
conjur up some words and put them in to rhyme
you can make a love poem of or something you have done
maybe one of humor giving people fun

dosent matter what you write it is up to you
to become a poet this is what you do
you can reach the world with the words you wrote
as around the internet your poems begin to float.

making many friends while along the way
you can read there words and what they have to say
poetry as power and can reach the whole world  through
they can see the words that are wrote by you.

So let me get this straight;** no matter how much we fail, succeed, know, forget, love, hate, accept or deny - or how black, white, gay, straight, fat, skinny, fast or slow we are; we are all flesh and blood.

If thats the case, then the people making issue of it are what; *Aliens?