The sea rumbles,
It fills his heart with dread,
The sky opens and thunder rolls
Across the silver clouds.

The old sailor ties the ropes,
And watches the sea,
Its temperament familiar to his aged eyes.

The sea shrieks,
The bowels of the great monstrosity
Open and exposed.

The boy stares into the icy depths,
His mind scrabbling for sanity,
But with a deep breath, he dives.

He lands among the feeble flowers,
The grizzled sailor above him screaming for help,
For his son who jumped into the sea.

He sees a mermaid,
Her tail shiny and beautiful against the currents,
Shining a lovely green.

She grabs his hand,
And pulls him ever under.

Breath is coming slowly now,
And his vision is fading.
The mermaid is no longer there.

And he is drowning in the stormy sea.

The echo of me went around and about,  
The ghost of my words, the ghost of my thoughts,
She wandered around and sowed the seeds of doubt.

She was transparent, as thin as a sheet,  
When she took a breath, there was no heartbeat,  
Her hair hung limply, her limbs were sticks,  
But her words could hit like a ton of bricks.

Lust is for the weak of body,
Wrath is for the weak of control,
Pride is for the weak of mind,
Gluttony is for the weak of soul.

Greed is for those who want more,
Sloth is for those who want less,
Envy is for those who want all.

Those are the seven sins, the sins
That break souls like a bug underfoot,
The sins that are uneasy to break,
Even when all your heart's at stake.

They pressed hands to the wall,
The wall that kept them in,
The wall that was so, so clear,
As a reminder of their sin.

Paradise, the outside seemed,
Green and full of promise,
They dreamt of its air,
Of its wind and cool kiss.

They took up rocks and stones,
They broke through the wall,
It shattered so easily,
And they walked so very tall.

But the outside was poison,
The air was smoky and dim,
Plants did not grow,
And their lungs were filled to the brim.

Many tried to stumble back,
To the air that was clean,
But the desolation and the fog,
Clouded what could be seen.

The people regretted,
Of what they had done,
They buried everything,
And nothing was won.

can you see me?

can you tell what i fear?

can you stop this?

i'm looking through thick windows

you seem like a mirage.

Thunder rolls.

The clouds gather,
Their heavy moisture gathering,
The sky is grey,
And their life is naught but water and sediment.

They sprint among themselves lightly,
Spirits high and rising,
They laugh,
And their happy tears spill like water.

Thunder rolls.

They spin in giddy circles,
Their laughter echoing,
The land below is flooded with their happiness.

They blink in and out,
Moving fluidly in the winds,
They spend themselves,
And end their lives in bliss.

Thunder rolls.

People talk about Tornado Alley,

The part of the U.S where I live.
They act like tornadoes touch down every week in May through October,
Like storms go through every other week.
Like everyone’s not scared and they’re always calm.

The truth is,
Tornado Alley’s not like that.

Tornado Alley is worrying
When a tornado touches down only five miles from your house,
Your family’s in the basement,
Wondering if everything’s all right,
And if your house will be damaged.

Tornado Alley is praying a storm will pass,
The ever-looming threat of a supercell,
Swirling clouds above your roof,
The sky a nasty green and purple.

Tornado Alley is taking everything you have for granted,
Then being scared when it’s threatened.

Tornado Alley is knowing tornadoes exist,
But being thankful that you’re not in San Francisco,
Or Hawaii, Florida, the coasts.

Tornado Alley is flat plains and wide open spaces,
Not being afraid of a storm,
But of what lurks when the beginning is over.

A gateway into another world,  
It reflects the stars, hanging in the sky,  
Immaculate dewdrops  
Twining into each other
Like so many dancers
They twist and turn
A finger wipes through them
Their partners are whipped away.
An exhale and mist covers their dreams

With a pen, I have the world,
With a pen, color rises and whirls.

With a pen, I can draw fantastical things,
With a pen, imagination stretches vast wings.

With a pen, language takes hold,
With a pen, the story is bold.

With a pen, I can write many letters,
With a pen, my voice is unfettered.

And with a pen, I can make a 'me',
With a pen, I can see all that will be.

There are no words for how I feel,
The feeble English feels unreal,
So I turn to other languages,
To tell me how I feel.

French says Bonjour,
Its word is "Amour,"
Russian says "Kak",
But it puts me farther back.

I look to Icelandic for an answer,
But all I get is "ást",
So I choose Latin,
And I hurry fast,
I type in my question,
And it says "tamquam" last.

Perhaps I'll find another language,
One I'll perfectly enjoy,
But for now, I'll stick with English,
And I'll say what it says.

"Like" and "Love".

There's twenty people in this room,
But the only one I see is you.

I've always seen you.
Standing in the hallways,
Talking with your friends.
And I wanted the moment to stay.

I've always liked you,
Your hair and face and smile,
The way you are,
The way you live and love all the while.

I'll never be able to admit it,
It's too much to bear,
I'm afraid that if I confess,
All my love will go somewhere.

So I'm content with watching,
A quiet background figure,
And maybe, just maybe,
You'll see me over there.