My Prayers, for You is this that when your world is turn upside down.
That instead of losing it and all, You shall just simply overcome it.
My Prayers, for You is this, that you shall live a Long and Fruitful Life.
One with many Heirs , and with much Love and respect for you here.
My Prayers, for You is that every thing that You touch in this here Life.
That it Bless by Tenfold and it is better than you had ever expected it.
My Prayers, for You is that You shall always be Loved by everyone.
That not only will You be Loved, but They shall be Grateful for You.
My Prayers, for You that throughout Your Life here You shall have Joy.
Not just Joy but Great abundance of Joy in Your Heart here everyday.

It's all about putting food on the table when you're older.

But what about the food for my soul?

What will I do when my heart is hungry?

Money comes from jobs, where does soul food come from?

Momma's kitchen bakes no breaded lies, food on the table will always be more important than the food for my soul.

the warm spring
dwindles into summer
into school
into Halloween
pain
pain
PAIN

...

Christmas.

I wish I could grow flowers in your veins so you can at least find a piece of beauty in you.

Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.

The knifes are in the water,
there below, just beneath your feet.

The river flows with blood
of the sweetest innocents.

A mermaid escaping up stream,
against the current of the most importance.

So, where does this bottomless journey end?
This lost channel of endless hoping.

Two bodies of water,
intertwining into the everlasting waterfall.

A voyage down the rapids,
Falling...

Falling...

Falling...

Falling...

Down into the pits...There just below the waters.
Where I can rest my weary head.

Fin.

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,
'I'll do a sketch of thee,
What kind of pencil shall I use,
2B or not 2B?'

we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die