This is poetry's pride
It's a poets problem

The compilation of words
Spoken like a sword wielded

All we have is voice
a noise to compliment thought

Speech is a vital choice


Maybe I'm in love with love itself

Fearing the sacrifice love requires

A love that endures all the struggle and strife

I want a love that cuts lies like a knife

I want a love that ties truth like a knot

I want love

he had a barbershop on Broadway.
it sat perfectly
midway between the river and
"the other side of town".
you passed George's
whether you wanted to or not,
but people wanted to.
he made them forget the mortgage
their ugly spouse
and tragedy.
he was half entertainer
half evangelist
which didn't leave much for barbering.
he chased away heartaches
like tufts of hair blown
across the green
and white tiled floor.
his guitar came out
more regularly than his clippers
and sermons were included
in the basic package.
you paid for the song and
the therapy,
the haircuts were free.

“I put my heart and soul into my work,
and have lost my mind in the process.”

                                         Taunted and tormented
                                         Voices in his mind
                                         Dreams filled with anguish
                                         Love he couldn’t find

“Art is to console those who are broken by life.”

                          His heart, his soul
                          crushed by deep despair
                          struggling to breathe
                          weight he couldn’t bear

“One can speak poetry by arranging colors well.”

                                           Swirls of cobalt
                                           splash of emerald green
                                           flashes of deep carmine
                                           saffron flares between

“The night is more alive, more richly colored than the day.”

                        Nights beneath his brush
                        became life’s multicolored page
                                        his words and wisdom were
                        far beyond his age.

“The more I think it over the more I feel there is
nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”  

                                       Love was not a certainty
                                       but stars could make him dream
                                       greatness escaped his grasp
                                       his work remained unseen.

“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops
to warm themselves at it.  Passersby see only a wisp of smoke.”

                                         Had he not ended his life,
                                         would his praises have been sung?
                                         If you die so early
                                        are you forever young?

Back then I was once told,
"Go out and meticulously pick the right one, darling."
Search for inner motives that lie within,
Look at every sign conveyed by an innocent grin.

Before I once knew,
Preserving and restoring is what I should do.
All my youth and all that I have left to offer.
'Till the time comes when I have chosen one among all the other.

Honey, you should know, I've followed every order.
Chased a dream after a dream and got to know every soul.
I did what I was foretold.
And still found myself wondering, "What have I done wrong?"

I've been, as you say, nice to them all. Picked the nicest one among the four.
Treasured and held it dear for long
Thinking this is it. The real deal after all.
Yet as it appears, it's just a facade. They got me fooled, once more.

So when should I know whom to pick?
Will time be enough to uncover the masked persona we keep?
Or do chances really happen and fate has its own course?
Thinking twice of when do I get here and...

"How far should I go?"

People would ask me
" what made you who you are. "
I'd say my family and things that filled me with glee,
especially the people who I talked to almost every hour.

My Friends.
They helped me change for the better.
Those who will stay for the end
will be considered greater.

They helped me when most needed
and encouraged me so much
They cheered when I suceeded
and always stayed in touch.

A tree grown off the seed,
everyone can see
and sees the seed
when none see the tree.

The seed, a dead end,
no pattern to see.
Punting in a zero pool,
what then comes to be.
The one is now the honey
spring for every bee!

Tis blood and fury
and for its cause
you would build a wall
and construct more bombs
to **** more kids,
to destroy more lives,
and never stop
While acquiring the disguise
to protect you from
the consequences
of your profit driven life.

Tis pain and sorrow
that you built
brick by clay brick
fire by fire
not in a kiln,
but in the hateful decree
of your religious immorality
setting stranger against stranger
calling those who revolt
heretics, blasphemers,
or apostates,
while claiming hate
is equal to love.

Tis my tears and rage
as I push my face
into my pillow case
to scream
because you do not listen to me
and slowly my humanity
turns towards wrath.
I stray, walking away
from my old forgiveness
and redemption days
and fantasizing about
your gruesome demise.