by Arcassin Burnham

peace out to the fellas, peace out to the ladies,
that think life might be crazy,
while carrying dreams under wings in a life so
unseen but their ways that they claim to portray
in their own grief,
angels sing so loudly to commute these events weather if
you're a sinner or just praying,
I'm just saying,
you don't have to gravitate or give in to the
words that I'm saying,
seeing the era of my ways would motivate,
but you're just playing, yourself,
bring my peace to the table , allow you to snack,
but it got cold , and your excuses for dying
got tired and old, you must enjoy that,
but things get gone,
friendships break up,
family isolates,
and you're all alone,
heading back to square one.

when your lucks run out,
everything gets cold,
promises broken,
and so is the mold,
heading back to square one.


©abpoetry2020

I grew, I was planted in mire
but I grew.

I shared my shoots with
reaping roots,
and still. I grew.

Wind that tore came.
Hail that burned rained.
But I endured.

Pressure came,
I stood.
Pressure came,
I bent.
Pressure came,
I broke.

In ash I grew
Pink.
I cried.

You came.

You looked not
away.

You stayed.

You gave me
Life Again.

The people are rising, the government Falling
People wake up survival Is calling.

       Wars braking out, people are
              Fighting, riots are starting

   The buildings on fire,  death everywhere
     Earth will crumble, left with only despair
            Panic, death and destruction
                   This pain I can't bear
    
     I will remember the time my family and I shared
       If I wasn't alive, would anybody care.

   Red flames lighting up the sky, however,
     This is nothing like the fourth of July
   It's not just sad, it's bad, am I going crazy
                                    Or
                 Do I have a right to feel mad

       I can't resist the feeling of killing
Now life will never be daisy, I just went insane and crazy, as long as I'm still
                           Standing
       Nobody will harm my family
                 An attempted suicide
    they should have a tattoo on their forehead, reading
                       slay me.

At first I thought I was born to succeed,
Which was good and great because I lack luster for greed
To give and to cherish was largely my creed,
Life blooms everywhere so why covet its seed?
For shame and for glory, my truth was a story.

  A story, not a fable, one with use in its cradle
No. Not my truth, my feeble fiction. That to give and to gain was no contradiction.

With strong head and strong body I’ve wasted my days,
To think beau intention wouldn’t lead me astray.

You see I’ve done all I could in the space of this mind,
To unravel the hope to create world’s in kind.

Eureka! I had it, for one second’s perception,
A prospect in favour of catastrophic direction.

Though its gone I still taste it, like the vacuum in glass,
My pious mis-deception that my chance has not passed.