I wish to love you like no one in this world has,
I'll give you the sun, the moon,
the trees, the leafs,
and the greenest grass.

It is the excitement filled in a world full of opportunities,
It’s about taking a jab at a gateway of possibilities.
A world full of choices where you are invisibly naked,
a place where everything under the sun breathes money that’s sacred.
Where it doesn’t draw its shutters at night, there is always not enough daylight.
The difference that lies between a Lamborghini and a Swift,
it’s how fast you go, not how strong is your drift!

It is this place that I swell up in wordless pity,
At a pace which the grass grows in the warmth of a winterless city.
Fear of embarrassment that kept me from achieving legacy,
told me to stay down and accept my destiny.

Then one day the blue circle sighed into me some sense,
how I could take it lying down with no pretense.
Made a dent in a world that I told me I can’t rise above,
To jab-cross-hook-uppercut with or without a glove.

I maybe a nuisance I maybe a ****,
Yet I grow – while you may never sow a seed.
I am blades of grass down against the wind,
Proving nature’s law is not for the win.
Its not fair that I get to have this much fun,
I will not give up until my time is done.
Poems are made by fools like me,
but who knows one day where I will be!

She opted for verdant grass
scintillating and dewy
in the offset of an afternoon
thunderstorm

as opposed to the tepid
red brick pathway
damp and sanguine

sauntering in her black flip flops
blades of grass reach over
her soles and glaze
her milky toes

the bell sounds the hour
six o’clock
i’m late for class

on the grass blades
tiny glass dewdrops closely clung
to reflect rainbows

As the grass grew
I cut it
I didn't think about it
I just shaved it
Again
Again
Again

Have you ever been outside?
It's slow.
Have you ever seen the grass?
It's slow.
I watched the grass for an hour today.
I didn't see any change.
Yet somehow the grass kept growing
Just to get cut down on saterday
Because when grass stops growing,
It dies.

Every week when i cut the grass
I looked in the mirror
I shaved my beard
I didn't see any change
Weeks whent by
I didn't grow
Am i alive?

the birds will eat
have a place to sleep
water to wash
their feet
yet, i've stood up
one too many nights
contemplating what makes them
any better than
me
i've flown to the highest branch
over every green pasture
counting every flower
that i keep

the grass is withering
and so am i

By Arcassin Burnham

Cracking necks and sneezing to prevent
Pure evil from letting go your misguided
Soul from this hell and her hell and his
Hell is a lot different than what it might
Seem in his or her eyes,
We prevail,
To be human beings in these dark times,
Pushing and pacing and paving numbers of
The population while playing sick games,
When all we want is sunny days with fresh
Cut grass,
Playing Frisbee in cold winters and make
Beds for summer,
Some are quite good swimmers,
Some are good runners,
in the grass we go.

I walk though the green ambiance soft under foot.
Patches of dirt where grass hasn't yet took,
varieties of shade leach blade never the same.

Under my feet the sound of rustling as my being
here is remembered as each footstep leaves.
wet dew is sewn on to the tips lingering like diamonds.

As I look back and see my traversing from there to
here, I see my footsteps like fingerprints showing
evidence of my transgressions through morning grass.

My walk nearing its inevitable end, I breath in the
freshness that sinks into my lungs. invigorated by
the surroundings I walk home across the carpet of green.