As the pain just adds up,
I'll be your sponge and soak it in
Feeling it all within
Beneath me and below me
Tired of the Sin
That implements fear into our hearts
Never again will i witness such discouraging misery without having a hand into preventing it.
We're all guilty of pandiculation.
I'm no different, but at least i can attempt to stop some of the ravaging pulses that define our physical state.
We invented habit, but now we're trying to have a ribbon cut to end the ones we dislike the most.

When a highly respected man is trying to let out some anger
Step aside and give him a moment.
We all need one or two
We're all vulnerable to inconsistency and exposition
You know he would do the same for you.

Why do people ride the roller coasters over and over again?
Why do people become board game boards and have things walk all over them repeatedly?
Why do people stay in the status quo for decades upon decades
Why do people hesitate to get out of something they know they can?
I'm not going to live in permanent misery
I'm not conforming for the common miserable life
***** that
I've had enough moping time
Too much if you ask me
Change is now my middle name
Either you want change or you want misery
One or the other
Pick one.

I beg you
don't leave the sky

when dark clouds billow in the south
the weary winged hurry home

overhead on the dead blue
jupiter and venus are born anew

the wind slows to silence
trees loom night's shadowy ghost

nocturnal birds sing on their new day
you feel your breath as they fall

the clouds spread across the sky
cracked by the lightning

a drop lands on your stretched palm
soothes all the burns in you

you melt in love
by the torrents falling from above.

don't leave for shelter
I beg you
when heaven arrives here.

When the sun slants
on wings smelling fish
fly the cormorants
to where the home is.

Their memory is a lake
with bountiful food
bill's all the take
that makes living good.

In between the catch
when enough seems done
find a dry patch
hold the wings to sun.

If wishes were heard
it's all I would want
to be turned into a bird
and what else but cormorant!

reading this morn's newspaper was different
said the father to his son
the prints are loud and bold
alphabets glitter as gold
crystal lucid is the page
and from the balcony,
whee, i can see every tree
without the haze.

the next twenty four days
he  was joyously rediscovering a world
in the exuberance of one reborn
only missing the car that ran him down
on the twentyfifth morn.

There's a poem on your window
one on the door
another in the wind's blow
welling up more.

There's a poem in your heartbreak
one on your tears
another on a long trek
walking for years.

There's a poem on the girl's eye
one on her skin
another in her silent cry
wearing out thin.

There's a poem in the hope's hue
one in your whim
another on the morning dew
waiting light's gleam.

There's a poem in the mirrored face
one in the season
another in your happiness
without a reason.