I would refer to sadness as the ocean.
Huge, murky waves crashing
down.
And if sadness was the ocean,
then I am the beach.
Pounded relentlessly.
Walked on by thousands of feet.
There are bits of broken sea glass hiding under my surface.
Poking out once in awhile to reveal my cold insides.
The sand is something people love to flock to,
to confide in.
They whisper secretly to each other when the moon hangs low.
They smile brightly and play in the shallows of sadness.
But they are never fully submerged like I am.
Molecules of water from all over the world float to me, bringing me their tragedies.
I listen to them.
To the mother who lost her son in the war.
To the husband who lost his wife in the airplane.
To the children who have been used lustfully by others.
The whole ocean, is sadness.
And I..
Well I am the beach.

Scissors beats paper

Light beats darkness

Love beats hate

*~ Remember?

there was a man,
he had no plans,
he collected cans.

he had a fear of time,
said that clocks would lie,
and lived inside his mind.

all of the neighbor kids
would fashion fibs
about how he lived.

they said, "he's actually rich!"
"his life is a cinch!"
"he doesn't need to live like this!"
"he chose to live like this."

one of his days
it went astray
to an opposite state.

six feet he lay
underneath a grave,
an unmarked grave.

all of the neighbor kids,
they're kicking cans,
a forgotten man.