Nightmares...

are like poetry,

At least metaphorically,

The metaphors are like falsified honesty,

So unreal and yet they express how we really feel,

Maybe that’s why we cannot dream

When we feel insane,

Because are honest nightmares are now the real deal,

So we lay still,

Eyes open,

Reality broken,

Stuck hoping,

That the ceiling has the answers

But it's shy

It hates talking,

We lay there thinking

What this life is,

What it represents,

Waging wars in our heads,

It’s a crisis of identity

When all the past mistakes

Leave so many things unsaid,

When those big dreams of the past have gone and fled,

Laying in our comfortable but uncomforting bed,

We ask ourselves

Who we could have been,

Who we could be,

If only those shooting stars could grant our wishes and help us see,

If each star in the sky...

Gave each person their identity,



If only it was that easy…

I guess for now we’ll just stay stuck...

With these identity crises

Why are there entire cities to drain,
When Somewhere in my village,
People are dying for a drop of rain
Coming from a cave through a seepage?

Why are many places flooded elsewhere
When the drought there is constant
And People are struggling everywhere
To moisturize the soil just to plant?

Why are young Maasai men digging
For hours Into the patched African soil
Searching way into the humid evening
For a drop of water, they have to toil?

Why did nature leave my playground arid
When she rains down billions of liters in Texas?
Streetlights, no lights, drought at the power grid,
Scolding of nature is the caveat of the water crisis.

Why did God give us diamonds and gold,
How can he bless us with an abundance of minerals?
Then seal up the skies and put the rains on hold?
Turning the crisis to a vulture's feast and human funerals.

#IvanBrooksPoetry©️

How can this be
That this face I now see
Was the face of blissful youth
And everything yet to be

It’s now twisted in hatred
Misery and pain
My Life's hard lessons
Have clearly been in vain

Those once innocent eyes
Bright and filled with wonder
Now dark and full of contempt
From the dark spell I’ve fallen under

Drained of everything
That was wholesome and clean
Unable to remember what hope
Or happiness really mean

Staring now back at me
Are my eyes that now see
The reflection that depicts a face
I no longer recognize as me