His finger tapped the book,
Encouragingly and gentle,
That old finger,
That had pulled triggers in the war,
That had touched his girls in tender ways,
He gave me a smile and tapped again,
Sunlight shining in his grey hair,
In his beautiful eyes,
I haven't looked down yet,
And he was still tapping,
I was thinking of his many crinkles,
Smile creases and frown wrinkles,
The day was ending,
I should leave soon,
I should look down,
But mesmerizing, was his teeth,
And I stared and counted,
And I observed his ear hairs,
And nose hairs, and beard hairs,
But the old man tapped again,
On the blank strathmore page,
I haven't drawn him yet,
His green eyes fail with the falling of the light,
I hurriedly drew him,
He paid for my work,
A work that dissatisfied,
So I went home,
And wrote about him,
Filling a page and a half.
                           from firefly

What is there to know?
America
As well as other lands
Other than the strength of an eagle
To endure
And celebrate in flight
All the world’s obstacles radiant in our eyes

To adopt ourselves
Those rough carvings through the air
But take for our integrity
The grace in the leopard’s stride

While all the while
Sink our velvet fangs
Into the feast of happiness

Nothing short of emphasizing jewels and love!
Every day the parade of all things wonderful

One day
The end will come

And I won't be sad
At all

I'll just sit on
The top
Of the mountain

Completely
And utterly alone

Looks like
I never made it
Out of the glass box

Never met
My female friend

All the days
I was on the earth
I was dying

They announced it
Was the end
Of the world

Who cares