Who cries for the little children
When pain and hurt fall upon
The little hearts of purest love
From the hands of the cruel and sick

Who cries for the little children
Locked up and fed a fist
Thrown around the floor like dust
No meals or drink no more

Who cries for the little children
When their voices are so mute
The only thing they know right now
Is life must be extinct

So let them fall into the arms
Of hearts that truly love
In sleep forever they rest now
And tears shall fall no more

Writing is
the frozen music
of an ellipsis,
the silent song
of a lonesome poet
who sings in the dark
among howling winds
crossing swords
in the white shades
of unseen things -
a winter on the Pole
on whose  obverse side
there's Rio,
and dancing
and mirth
and the sun's critique
of hegemony.

© Lazhar Bouazzi, May 31, 2016

O Temptation,
Why are you so musical?

And walks like an elf
And sometimes a little bit ******.

Don't you struggle
To strip from head to toe?

I know We are lost
The very next moment.

After you are gone
We are fettered in deep wounds.

O dear O friend O dear
Stop visiting us all the way,

Or be religious and be holy
To stay along with us no end.

Think of the heaven
And its blaze on our heads

That burn if we hail you
And you will face the same hereafter.

I have watched wars waged and won,
Waged and lost.
I have died 100 deaths,
And lived 1000 lives.
I have loved and romanced,
I have fallen and cried.

Each life I live,
I live again,
And again.

Within the confines of these paperback worlds,
I have lived more truly,
More passionately.
Free of constraints and norms to censor my actions.

These hardcover entities have taught me--
Lessons more true and earnest than any parent could deliver.

I have ridden dragons, killed Voldemort, cast the evil ring into Mordor, been through Dante's Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, watched Milton's birth of the world, and seen Shakespeare deliver us thousands of new words.

O, what brave new worlds therein lie!

And all in a day's work.

All those things a man does in life,
And those a woman does, too;
I have done also.

I have done them ten thousand times over,
And done them with infinitely more passion.

I am he who lives most without leaving the house,
She for whom hours are spent, lives exhausted.

I am--
The reader.

(20 minute poetry)

Everything is possible

That first step is probably the hardest one.

The deeper you've been
makes the light seem
more inviting
and biting the bullet to
take that first step is exciting in a dreadful
sort of way.

Everything can possibly be
I look in the mirror and see
it's the truth.

When the lights go out and the wind whistles
when your head's so full of thistles and thorns
It's hard to believe
you can move on and leave it behind you.

and it
is what never finds you if you don't let it
back
in

everything is everywhere
that
you want it to be

I look in the mirror
locked into me
and see
it's the truth.

It took only a few seconds to
f
a
l
l
in love with you.
____________
It took only a few seconds for us to be,

meyou

, side by side.  
____________
It took only a few seconds for you to
d
r
o
p
me from your life.
_____________
Why can't it take only a few seconds to pick
myself
mysel
myse
mys
my
m
up again?