My periods turn to semicolons
My suicide notes to poetry
My goodbyes became hellos
The blades turn to sunflowers
And the bullets, a rose
My heart still is broken
But the pieces have been found
Death isn’t for me anymore
What is, in the here and now
I still don’t feel enough
But I am alive
And that’s enough to say
Today is not the day I die.

Many bottles on the tables,  
All properly labeled, clear,  
Yet contents hidden, veiled within,  
Their secrets disappear.  
  
Some hold water, pure and plain,  
Some with wine refined,  
Juices sweet in some you'll find,  
While others stand confined.  
  
A few are lifted, sipped with joy,  
Their purpose fulfilled with ease,  
But many sit in silent wait,  
Left alone, to only tease.  
  
Some are empty, void of worth,  
Disappointment's quiet toll,  
For not all bottles, neatly placed,  
Can satisfy the soul.

The truth
lies
in the mouth
of a politician

If not for nothing
there wouldn't
be anything

The clouds
are covering
up for the
sunshine

Handing out smiles
weak after week
See the bitter in the sweet

The agiest lie about their youth
When falling asleep
they slip , tell the truth

Keeping your wits
at sticks end
When the walls wail
you learn to bend

They paved the path inside your brain
with asphalt , potholes and sewer drains

But you scraped down below their truth
Investigated it like a common sleuth

Discovering the real way
you turned off the sound to what they say

Under the mango tree where the shade is dark and deep
she waits with years on her skin.

The face though weary with the burden of time
has not yielded to the fate
of having once loved and lost.

She believes the winds from the barren field
will one day carry the rustle of footsteps
raising a song from within earth
that the moment is arrived
for the dead river to rise in tides
and flood her cheeks with the sapplings of
all the unplanted kisses.

When the nights come
the fireflies would sing
love is such a beautiful thing
basking in the glow of her heart.

You take:

One part nursery
And one part tomb

Mix well beyond thoroughly,
Folding in struggle as you go

Sun-bake it for all eternity
And call the dish 'Home'