The seed in the ground is surrounded by dark –
Under the dark shadow where it’s born,
It waits in hope, every day, every hour
The flower that can only dream of what
It’s meant to be, still as a seed

And the day will come, where it’s hope
Isn’t so dark; for hope begins in the dark –
As you only value a spark when it clears out
The dark; there where life is; you can find
Hope in the most unlikely places

We bear in our eyes, struggles heavy in tears
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years
Close to the edge of a breaking point
But once that beautiful hope finally comes out
Won’t you ask, “where have you been hiding”

If I could believe lies from truth,
I would be an honest man,
but sadly  fairy tales are true,
and I remain black and blue.

A truth is a whisper's gun,
Lies are joyous fun,
Even looking in the eyes of a saint
They can lie with no distraint

But in a world as crazy as ours
We can't expect real truth,
when our Politicians lie as truth
The youth gives it as solid as terms.

Colors to me
are like dresses,
created to love,
and make us blush,
and the skin that wears
a pulsating breath.

The skin that wears,
creates a feeling bare
as the colors she wears,
overwhelms a man addresses.

I love the black in contrasting white
and the Asians perfect  under lights
in their yellow and orange pieces,
It sets a man in glowing wishes.

You approached
the night you stole,
dazzling silver gown
black girl with tricks known how,
You danced the world away,
faster than if Chaplin today.
The powder whites may had sniffed,
but the rest of us saw colors in spring.

As days age and sink beneath the Earth,
my friend he walks with confidence in his work.
And we work together, worlds apart,
a mind of methods and honest hearts.
Stood as frame to scenes of wonder
and together we'd press through rain and thunder,
the will of gods and wrath of planets
and together we form constructive habits.

Witness of a world asunder,
and under the impression that there is more to be done
we have fun, on the run from the eyes and the engines
that pursue the constant contention, driven
by the sad ambitions of those around us,
but our friendship will ground us, from mountain to river.
And a unique brand of faith shall deliver
the voice that is still worth hearing,
as the time of rest is nearing,
I hope we can work together on our many optimistic feelings.

We wish upon burning bright stars
we'll meet again and spark up the sky
Have the greatest *** worthy of Cuban cigars
Wash to shore the greatest of perfect days.

If all we had so great ***
but the devil numbed the pillow talk,
Our love was tangled in webs
Scribbled out by the chalk.

Our pleasantries became repetitive
unlike the spark when we first meet
And a kiss on the cheek was a given,
No passion that was never driven.

Wild & Desperate

Most of life is spent curled;
Caught in the wild and desperate places,
Straddling between two worlds;
Satisfied and striving, for more space,
The here-and-now and the not-yet-inspired.
Being enough and constantly unlaced.

How can I know I am moving when
the air around me is ghostly still
the room surrounds me, white and chill
and the sun peeps over the windowsill.
I lean on my talent as though it would carry me
and place blame on my family
as though they would harry me
but no one but I can defy
these workings of fate, and
I'm under obligation of no one to be great,
but my aim is to be what
I know I must be, I am not a wheel
to drive an engine I am the blade defending,
I'd die before that I love
and need no threat from below or
blessing from above.

I arrived as a child of dust and from it I derive no meaning
other than to look for such a thing
that has no answers, advancing only
at the mercy of my own whims.
I must find things I love and feed them
and in turn connect myself
to the world and breeding these passions
I'd fashion a place, my memory retrieving,
and feel fascinated and young
like the inner child I'm starting to believe in.