embroiled snow of solitude, a meadow of coldness
where all the vivacious beings have died down
tearing down blizzards embellished decaying soil
with delicate fleecy fluff fallen down from the sky

collected trees with no leaf, coated with white fuzz
howbeit strong, keeping their thin stalks to an end
years by years, the trees fastened to each other closer
holding what is left, leaving what is now behind

they started to get weaker whenever getting too close
touching their haulm with another's haulm breaks them
and the tangled roots started to unravel themselves
with one another, they became really weak alone

in the end of the world where everything has been buried
only two trees have been left apart on a tiny ground
without holding each other's fangs, they lived together
happily, until each of them slowly progressed to vanish

Is this the best of the worst times
So many choices
Yet I made all the wrong ones
Can't stop all the voices
One of these days I'll burn
Could be tomorrow
Could even be today
It's just fate

Fate's a ***** sometimes
Messes with you like a witch sometimes
Never gives you what you wanted
Only gives you what you needed
They said
But I don't even know what I need or want
I just wanna stay in bed
Can't move my legs
Can't be bothered to
So is this what it's come to
Are you gonna leave me too

I'm half dead half alive
Wrist is on the edge of a knife
One inch between life and death
One step before falling in the depth
I'm such a ******* mess right now
I hope you don't think I meant it
And I'm sorry for making you worry
Just forget what I said
and leave me be

so one last toast to the good times
the last time we can unwind
i sometimes wish i can rewind
back to those days
back when we used to run away
you used to hid in this bale of hay
and we would wonder where'd you go
that was so long ago

and now you're all grown up
with all those responsibilites
livin it up
in that big ol' city
do you still remember all the good times
all the fun we had with the boys
remembering those still brings me joy

guess it's too late to be regretful
guess it's too late to say i love you
and now that you're gone
and as i write this song
i hope you're happy
i really do
i hope you're happy
happier than we ever were

Your face was like wind
A cooling breeze
A brisk coolness passing through me
On a hot summer day
The sun is bright and warm
And your face was the wind
Keeping the temperature right
Now it's a hurricane
It throws me down and hurls me through the air
Making me gasp for breath
I used to fill my lungs with you in a deep calming breath
But now im suffocating
I can't blame you
I was just in your path
You tried to pass through
I must have ran in front of you
Your storm wasn't meant for me
I don't know who it was meant for
But I'm just a bystander
One of hundreds and hundreds
Thousands, even

I can feel the love,
fading from my heart,
or rather,
it's not fading,
it's being torn out.

Piece by piece,
people steal it,
when I would have given it,
when I had given it,
and then demand more,
as if I'm holding back.

But I'm not,
I'm loving with my whole heart,
loving them more than me,
loving their flaws and insecurities,
their hatred and inconstancy,
while I let my own drown me,
in their wake.

So complicated,
is this word.

So heavy,
is its weight.

So sad,
is its ending.

So wondrous,
is its beginning.

So relieved,
when both hear it.

So heartbreaking,
when one rejects it.

So troublesome,
is its burden.

So blessed,
is its meaning.

where did you go?

Building Walls

To build a wall beside your neighbor,
(though he be not dearest neighbor) -
Build a wall to hide your neighbor
And to hide yourself,
Is wrong as wrong can be.
Don’t you agree?

What neighbor has no overflow?
Is not magnifico?
Has not a folk to which we owe
Our history:  our languages, our citizenry, heroes and mythology;
Poverty an un-destroy-able
“The poor are always with us” still, will always be.

What neighbor doesn’t ebb and flow,
Fail then grow?
He next store or ‘cross the border.
Not our job to build a fort  
Against a fancied enemy.

Building Walls 5.22.2017
War Book II; Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin;