progressively irrelevant, i write.
each strike comes, reverberating chords
in chambers all my history reveals--
voices forge a living thought, steam quietly;
truth is spent confronting hidden dangers
that, when alight between the flicker awe
our fire-starting letters linger still
to question ashen marvels of, phoenixlike
enveloping that subtle being-as
annulled to meaninglessness tolled.
a bare encounter with the void leaves off,
no symbols rally convalescent winds
for shaping form amenable to time--
rather, my lostness leads to this, and dies.

Where does this boredom end?
On what steep hill must I bend?
To feel a sense of excitement again
To feel life rush through my veins once more
If my life was like a heart monitor
Me, myself, the utter wanderer  
Would have flat lined many moons ago
For I have lived a colorless life up till now
As grey as it may seem
Tints of color sometimes do spring
But always I find myself back where I started
Wishing for another exciting thing

I cannot speak for anyone but me
But what I watch is what I see
What will it take to someday break free
From this violence, we must flee
When will adults look around the room
And apologize for their sins
Where egos and rank have no bearing
Ending hate before it begins
When will the ones who run this world
Shatter the cycles of pain
Dismantle all the ignorance
Washed away with heavy rain
When will the day come where I will be allowed to travel
To any place
Where I will not be discriminated for ethnicity or race
When will a time come near, where children play with no fear
Of strangers who play with them, with strangers they call friends
When will the people shout for change? When will they rise and say enough?
Enough with the killing
Enough with the death
Enough with the battle fields, enough with the wars
No more shattered windows or broken down doors
How much blood must be spilled to change the world?
Enough to paint a city red?
When will people cast down their stones and cherish life rather than being dead?
I cannot speak for anyone but me
But what I watch is what I see
And I see a world, a dysfunctional world
Talking too much
But taking no action

Before I grew up so fast
I once believed I was a good kid, back when I had never seen the world
Where life was just like the stages of the day and moments passed and carried on
But that day I always remember when a new emotion, where I was hurled
To a new territory, to a never before seen place
Where kids began to find it funny on what others looked like
How it mattered to have a flawless face
No blemishes
No scars
No indications of any irregularity could be found
For if it was, kids ended up"outside the club"
Forever bound
To the snickers of others
And incessant gossip of cliques
Where mothers and fathers would ask you how your day went
But all you ever said was "fine"
Not wanting to say what he or she at school had said
Which made you feel self conscience for the briefest of moments
The first time someone had mentioned that of the few
Eligible to possibly join that group
Your nose was too big or your ethnicity didn't match up
And you sauntered on down the hall alone between each passing class
Each day became another fight
To impress the people you envied so
And though you say you envied not
It was always in the back of your mind
Keeping up with the fashion trends
Bending your mind to things you'd "get used to"
And forcing yourself to be who you were not
Each passing day metaphorically new.
The make-up or new shoes you had to acquire
Becoming a liar, and for those passing moments  
Refusing to admit you changed, you turned into the envy you held inside
And anger formed
For as long as you sought to be the one that held the "popular seat"
You could not meet the standards of those who ran the school
Those who set those fashion trends and controlled the halls
With glaring eyes, bending the heads of those who weren't "cool" to their feet
Your anger became a sorrowful doubt
Doubt which turned your insides out
Doubling the pain of exclusion
And adding only insult to the injury
Perhaps one day you realized fast,
That maybe at last you're free from those kids
Who held your talent down to shame
And made lunch a funny game
To see if maybe today you would sit alone
Again and again, each passing day
And I apologize
For on that day
Under that quiet December sky
I witnessed that game, the cool kids played
And sat back and only observed
For who was I to say anything
Paint a target on my back
Yet confidence I did so lack
And on that day I went on my way
As if nothing had ever happened.
Perhaps we all went through this once
Witnesses to a bully
Name called "stupid or "dunce"
Yet we all sat back and watched
And till today I sit
Typing this apology
Realizing I could have made a difference