my life has been a drought
spent waiting for a storm.
to fix me
and bring life.
now here you are,
showering me with love.

when will I be okay again?

Countless tombstones lined up
  like shark teeth
Waiting for the next generation
  to march into their graves
Helmets waiting
  for heads waiting
    for their bullet holes
Dying in the same clothes
  as their father
    and their father
      before them
Because everyone
  loves a corpse
      in uniform
Left,
  Left,
   Left right left
The endless
   mobius strip
        of war

history repeats its childhood
and dwells on its faults
in need of psychotherapy
it analyzes its insecurities
and cannot bear to be told what to do
it finds freedom in repetition
like a machine gun against the cold
streams of ****** victims
immediate and visceral
silence overcame our blankets
and wrapped us up in fear
our guardians whispered warnings
that we could never hear

Touch my senses with a sun
my fellow writers.
A sun that hangs beside my prose.
One that meshes with heartbeat
to emanate power.

A sun that warms my heart
and gives mind a spur to write.

Touch my senses with a sun
and I shall smile.
A sun that catches energy of day.
One that meshes with soul and breath
as I bow in gratitude.

Whispering from within I feel the wind quench my vessel.
Energies empower voice to sing.
Lungs fill vibrating love.
And as I merge with wind.
moments drift like sand in hourglass.
Sands that are like seeds of dreams.

A hiatus I believed...
To be well deserved and timely.

For too long I've spilled
copious amounts
upon non-judgemental paper.

For too long I've relied much
on the soothe of the written word.

A hiatus I thought...
Was necessary for I,
strive to go crutchless.
I strive to stand on my own.

But my legs are not yet strong.
And my fingers are jonesing

because my heart still bleeds ink.

A flea and a fly in a flue
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?
Said the fly, "let us flee!"
"Let us fly!" said the flea.
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.

Ogden Nash