The boxer has so much rage
Pacing to and fro in within the safety of a cage
She is bright, mighty and powerful on the stage
Where all wild inclinations can be un-caged

Her brain burns violent red
Her anger originates from her head
In the grasp of aimlessness she lay in her bed
In the grasp of torture she wishes to have her pain bled

Maybe if she could see pain in her opponents eyes
She would understand why
We all have this inclination to fight
Why we become ruthless and inhumane through the darkness of our life

If she caused someone else to bleed
Maybe she could conceive the victory
With her punches--In making someone small
With her kicks--In making someone fall

Being kicked down, beat, and unwanted
Is all she ever knew from birth to now
She just needed to understand her existence somehow
Picking fights on the street isn't allowed
So she chose to fight an opponent for a crowd.

The old oak tree grew at the edge,
of an orchard where little ones play,
and there lived a mage,
who hears trees on a windy day,

Rushing wind rustles leaves,
on that one day brilliant and bright,
With amber gold autumn grandeur on display,
singing tuneful songs delightfully light and gay,
Apple trees trilling events as mysterious as night,
Of love found and lost last May.

My heroes don’t wear capes or camouflage
Don’t snipe from sand dunes or hide behind mirages
Don’t shoot hoops in Nike shoes
Or praise Jesus while supporting corporate issues

My heroes hold hands on picket lines and tear gassed streets
Wear blood red wounds from aggressive police
Sigh and cry for the innocent
Try and try against impossible odds
Sing songs of freedom
Not the military type but the kind that social movements keep bringing

And they are still bleeding
And they are still singing
And they are still marching
And they are still dreaming

My heroes keep
Carrying children from the wreckage
Running into burning buildings
Bandaging wounds
Holding the hands of strangers who are in danger,
Sheltering strangers, feeding strangers,
Caring for the poor,
Singing songs of love,
Putting down their guns and refusing to ****
While they pass out water bottles on the battlefield

These are my heroes
And they are still healing
And they are still singing
And they are still loving
And they are still dreaming

Poets seem sad to me
Because we feel more
And we hold on tight
And when we hurt, we write

Our tears fall on paper
In the form of words
Thoughts in scribbled ink
As our hearts begin to sink

Other people's pain fades
And drifts away with time
But a poet's hurt will stay
There on the tear stained page

So I would like to take a rest.

Because my hands are swollen
from writing your name
over and over and over again.

Because my eyes forgot how to blink
whenever I see you buy coffee
in that cafe along 7th street.

Because my ears only hear
your deep voice
and triggers the fault lines in my body
waiting to attack like an earthquake
and cause major damages including butterflies, no, dinosaurs in my stomach.

Because my nose hallucinates your smell.

Because my lips long to call you all day,
all night, every hour of my life.

My senses go crazy and becomes uncoordinated.
My knees go weaker and I can't move but still smile like an idiot at the thought of your being.
You make my head spin
and you make my heart twirl
like a circus girl.

I can remember
women with dark skin and ebony hair
entangling limbs with mine
turning to one,
give me a loving smile
making me feel fine

then

I fall off a balcony with a young boy
we fall together
hand-in-hand,
hitting the ground
the boy disappearing into the land

so

I lie in pain unable to move
yelling out "Why is no one helping me?"
my face against the snow
clowns dragging me home
walking to-and-fro

yet

I walk back up the stairs
in a dark indigo house,
with a nail through the foot
creating tears
dropping for a mile like soot

all the while

A 46 year old fool
playing with kids
has an unkempt beard and crown
laughing in my face and
is loved by all the town.
Its a circus, a terribly frightening circus.

There's a tired feeling
That I sometimes get
When I'm not ready
For the day just yet

So I squeeze my eyes shut
Roll over in bed
Pull the blanket up
And over my head

I pretend that it's dark
And the sun isn't there
So I can get more sleep
Without a thought to spare