It's always the same:

there must be a better way --


So, should I do it?

Scornful words; as a resting tongue reliant on lies.
Bitter sweet intentions, intentive of it being intentionally
sound. I'll be loud, overly of being too proud when
humbleness isn't found.

The wise know when to hold tongue, not being boastful
of knowledge's gain. They do not entertain the rantings of
fools. Those so few—do not conform to a standard of pitiful
stance. But instead stand out, as ones of content in their
struggles. As with feet with scars, but unafraid to dance.

So trade off those scornful words, but instead let be
encouragement, lest scorn. An encouraging poem.
                    Share your encouragement in action,
                    as much as you share them in words.

Friends have the power

of repeating together --


what they are good at.

What I would do, I

must, and hope, want, shall, can, may --


begin to do now.

returned to the same desk,
the same grindstone, the same thoughts,
cyclical patterns of thought and action,
but which comes first?

the will slips, the cracks widen,
and it all floods in, easier to understand,
caught within the same ropes,
you spun from woes of a broken past,

and they were meant to help climb out,
but the grease that bounds the threads,
cannot be grasped by those unresolved,
to the reality they crave most,

Maybe if I take the leap of faith
that you will jump into the stream with me
I will enjoy the swim.

A thousands spires that whirl and dervish,
high upon the scorching currents in the air.
Across the empty desiccated wastelands,
so long parched without waters soft repair.

Like gyrating embodied souls rotating,
to lay scar deeply carved upon the land,
driving clouds of rock like pelting hail,
headlong until all is shattered into sand.

Flashes of lightening and thunders call,
clouds cast in iron, observers of the scene,
testament in muted light from up on high,
sole recall of still waters that once had been.

Desolate open and forsaken landscape,
where only wind gives motion to the world.
Leaden clouds of rain without a falling,
static charged clouds constantly re-curled.

How long ago it was that life had left,
its own scars and marks upon the soil.
until through life's' own achievements,
a once beautiful world was left to broil.

In that not so distant time when remnants
of the miracle that was life is erased and gone.
not one thing that we have ever seen or know,
nor memory of who we once were shall live on.

Stop all the cars.
Shut down the coal.
Prevent Big Oil from dumping its ***** load.
Shake up complacency
And pull out the stops:

Let our leaders lead.

Nature,
You are North and South and East and West;
Our sanctuary
At God’s behest.

The time is now to transform our ways,
So warming ends,
Now and always.

Simon Piesse

makes us submissive.
prevents us taking action.
we can do better!