Listening to the silence of the rain
Sitting in the candle lit flames

Scents of lavender and vanilla
Fill the air , I breath.
Listening to my thoughts
Re-writing some old memories

The wind is violent today
Tossing into the windows,
Is the rain.
So hard, the drops hit my glass
Running down to the ground
To be safe at last.

The puddles are deepening
Sewers overfilled
Streets overcome,
With water they fill.

There's  no electricity now
The rain has silenced,
this blackened town.

Listening to the silence of the rain
Sitting in the candle lit flames
Now all my neighbors, will do the same.
Read a book, or read your mind
Be guided by flame,
In the day times,  night.

It's loves color
it's the shade of her cheeks when she falls
not to the ground but in love
when she opens the door
he hands her a dozen roses
it's the wine she drinks
the wine she spills
it's the stain on his white shirt
it's the shade that blinds him with rage
it's loves color
it's her lipstick on date night
the night she cried harder than ever before
it's the pattern on her cheek
it matches the blood on his knuckles
it's the sweater she uses to hide
it looks like the heart she uses to live
it's loves color
she never knew sparks were that shade
it's the remains left on the bullet
it's the color of sirens, of help
it's what her skin is painted in
when she wakes confused she sees it
roses by her bedside, she cries
it was loves color

I'm white.
I don't know what it's like
to have a black son
and wonder if he'll get shot
on a walk down the block
because his skin
camouflages him
into the night.

I am white.
I don't know what it is
to fear shots
from the gun barrels of the cops
hired to protect and serve
"us" from "them"
thick boots stomping the block--

cops more **** than Trayvon,
more **** than Mike,
more **** than the pre-teen
with a BB gun
robbed of his life.

I am white.
I don't know how it feels
to bleed out in the streets,
the fruit of my veins
soaking into scorched tar,
my still-open eyes seared
by the August sun.

I don't know how it feels
to lie there, dead,
an echo of ancestors
dangling from trees,
from light poles,
sunk into the Tallahatchie
with barbed wire and a cotton gin fan.

I am white.
Our history is filled with pale devils
enslaving races,
seizing lands,
killing millions--

so if someone's going to get shot,
maybe it ought to be one of us.

I am always seeing the seasons changing
the hottest summer breeze fall leaves
cold winter snows spring roses
dawns and darkness
crimson ochres
grasses green drenching
clear drop rains, ice and cold,
turning reds and oranges fallen leaves
your eyes being the clearset
green of forests the scent
of wintergreen freshness of a lucky Irish lad on spartan turf seeing
his love. His four leaf (c)lover.

I got down
And see the street lights
The cars passing by
Stuck in the headlight

I've seen bestfriends become lovers
We've eaten their left overs
What's left with us,
Is the piece of junk way back past.

I've watch lovers love
Like I did before
I've watched them fall apart
I've felt their beating heart

Baby there's no ticket to the past
There's nothing you can do
We didn't make it last
Just throw your love to the past