I want to go places,
somewhere,
anywhere else
other than my native land
where my secrets lay buried
in the soil,
for it has seen my best
and my worst.

The flaming, glorious mirth in your iris'
as you place your dirk to the throat of the adversary
as you contemplate whether you should send him to death,
or await submission.
In your sporran,
bullets destined to be loaded and shot from a musket
lie, a dead weight,
reluctantly used.
You let the adversary flee,
with warning,
for a proud warrior you may be,
but willing to accept a change of heart.

years ago,
it was,
that i tipped the hourglass.

and for years now,
i've been reminded of how lonely I am
because of an infinite waterfall
of sand.

We may try to put water in a mold,
to shape it forever without letting it freeze.

Impossible.

It will drift quickly upon a river,
fall fast when shooting out of a faucet,
sail openly on cold metal
and sink when in contact with fabric.

Water has no form, yet it possesses one of the most
magnificent beauties of our world.

It was a falling, tingly sensation at first.
And once I opened my eyes, well,
I couldn't believe what they were showing me.

"Oh, hello! Welcome to Hell!
What's your name? Oh, there's the bell!
Tell me your sign,
and I'll tell you mine!"

"Oh, uh, Emilio," I replied, hesitant.

"As the French say,
enchanté.
Persephone is my name,
let me lead the way!"

"It's not what you think,
no fiery pits of blazing brimstone.
There's no torture, torment, and you're surely not alone!"

"Welcome to Hell,
there's plenty of pros,
just don't venture to the well,
don't touch the rose."

"You live normally,
and to Heaven you go,
just as long
as you do all your chores!"

"Oh, take the left,
this is your dorm!
Please, make yourself at home,
you have a long way to go!"

"I beckon you good luck,
come out of your shell!
As I said before,
Welcome to Hell!"

The tears free fall
like a waterfall,
or perhaps a broken faucet;
look, it's a tree! A walnut tree!

Well, it's rather stunning, no?
Your feeble attempt at pulchritude is admirable,
I suppose,
I congratulate you on your effort-

But why,
answer me,
why does carnal turn to carnage
with you?

Boring!
How dull,
I need something exciting!
Stimulating!
Challenging!
But please,
have mercy,
nothing boring!

I couldn't quite believe
what I had become in that moment,
but it happened
without remorse.

I am aware of how agonizing
this must be for you, sir,
but the truth is often vexing.
Thus, I will show you only candor
and tell you of the pain that is to come,
if you will listen and admit acceptance.

The night, silent and obscure.
2:56 ; witching hour was near.
My mind wasn't sure,
and a dragging pierced my ears.
My mother,
my father,
dragged by a stickly, monstrous figure.
It placed them in my room, creating
a masterpiece.
On the wall, he used their blood
to write a message.
As it hid under my bed,
my eyes twitched open
to read the horrific message on the wall.

"I know you're awake."

a stabbing
a burning bubble in your chest
your heart fell to your stomach
and your vision is blurred

t'is the sensation, the desperation, of anxiety.

You would like me to brood
while you remain aloof,
how is this fair, I ask?
What would you like me to do?

I'm rather agnostic,
I believe not that violence
is the essential way to win.
You're rather licentious,
no bounds, you're not grounded
and violence will be your ultimate defeat,
not your victory.
Nevertheless, you take your musket to the battlefield
while I wave my white flag with strength,
not surrender.

Nowadays,
to be different
is wanted.
But why?
Why now?
Why do you take the name
of the minorities
and claim
to be one of them?
To take their limelight
when you have fought their battles?
Why?

I write to dissipate
my frustrations,
my sorrow,
my hurt.
In every little poem,
there is a message
that only a certain someone
could decipher.

I was no longer thriving,
I was miserable.
It was time
for a differing adventure.
And so, impatient,
filled to the brim with gaiety,
I told you.
You acknowledged
my decision,
but will you leave
as I walk an unknown path
of obscurity?
Will you stay, support me,
love me?
Or will you leave?

A woodpecker probes an oak for grub,
a raven cackles while perched proudly on an old wooden fence,
On the hazlenut sapling, a warbler twitters.
On the willow, a viceroy butterfly flutters.
In the sky, a hawk has narrowed eyes in search for its prey.
In a weeping birch, a dragonfly soars.
These creatures, they see the world from a different perspective,
only because they are winged.

After a night that let
snow like chilled cotton
fall from the cloudy, yet sunlit sky,
the enthralling,
calming sounds of
twittering birds
and crunching snow,
that is my winter wonderland.

A wishing dandy,
to blow away all the seeds
and foolishly think that it would make
all of your dreams come true?

Not foolish, no.
It was a mother of seedlings that would grow
and while she may have perished,
her children traveled and sprouted.

That is all I would have wished for; life.

I am a woman;
we are gracious,
even with the difficulties.

I had presumed that I was to birth a boy,
but my babe had been a girl.

She had grown to be strong, to be wise,
but she had told me once,

'This vessel is not mine,'

and I had really, as presumed, birthed a boy.

When I am happy,
ready to combust, overfilled with joy,
I am reminded of how the sky is blue,
the grass is green,
and my merriment seems bright.
Yellow, perhaps, like the sun.
A charisma painted yellow,
so pure and so mellow,
I cannot resist, I must indulge.

When you awaken,
wipe the grime from your eyes
and squint to the sun,
start the day like you wanted to
yesterday.

I'll deny it,
I really will!
Still, you can't hide me
from the adrenaline,
the thrill.

So don't even try,
you're wasting your time!
Just wait and see,
you'll understand why.

Covetous, you;
parsimonious, gold spent;
you now have ****** and wine, what else?

if you dare speak ill
of my body and soul,
your opinion will forever remain
incorrect,
in my opinion.

You drain me of a necessity to live.
You try to enthrall me with manipulation and power.
You lie, you don't love me, you are much too aloof for that.
You are conniving, with a malicious smirk to accessorize your bloodshot eyes.  
You disdain me, you love only those who can offer you gold.
You need not receive my love, for you are too fascinated with yourself.

His fingers caress skin like ivory,
tracing circles upon my back.
His touch, it has become languid,
yet it makes me feel beyond zealous.