I'm a mountain that has been moved,
I'm a river that is all dried up,
I'm an ocean nothing floats on,
I'm a sky that nothing wants to fly in.
I'm a sun that doesn't burn hot,
I'm a moon that never shows it's face,
I'm a mouth that doesn't smile,
I'm a word that no one ever wants to say.

if the sky opened up and started pouring with rain,
The antichrist sent back on judgement day,
Would you be alright?
Would you survive,
Would you even be saved?

Take all of your sins and burry them fast,
Pray that they turn into seeds,
And then into roots and grass.
So that you'd be alright,
You wouldn't be alright,
He can see the graves.

You'll never be saved.

Do you question where you're headed,
   when the roll is called up there?
Do you feel you've been successful,
   for in Heaven to prepare?

Do you know Him as Your Saviour?
   Is your heart His Home to stay?
Have you trusted Him to fully,
   walk beside you everyday?

Have you lived your life for Jesus,
   telling others 'bout His love?
Have you read His Word He gave us,
   sent to others from above?

Have you let Him guide you always,
   down the bumpy roads of life?
Have you turned to Him in anger
  feeling sorrow, pain and strife?

Do you worship Him on one day,
   then you curse the very next?
Aren't you sure He's thought about it?
   I can bet you'd be perplexed!

Have you answered all these questions,
   without lying none at all?
Why not ask Him for forgiveness,
   or in sin your sure to fall!

He will always be here for us,
   so just call out His dear name;
If you'll give yourself all to Him,
   in His fold you will remain!

Once you give your life to Jesus,
   oh you'll feel much more alive;
And you'll know your name is written,
   in that Heavenly Book of Life!

I once thought that I do not need this life
I could die today
I could die tomorrow
And everyone will be alright

I once thought that I could run away
I could run to Boston
I could run to Rome
Because no one cared whether or not I stayed

I once thought that he could not break my heart
He could sleep with her
He could leave today
And not tear my world apart

I once thought that I could not feel pain
I could slit my wrist
I could try to fly
And no blood would escape my veins

I once thought that I was nothing
But I met him
And he makes me feel
Something

Almost
This last little thing
That last little string
Snapped
You seen it in my eyes
Even though no tears I cried
Relapsed
You saved me more than scars
Those little line bars
Sliced
You took my knife
You saved my life
Wrist
For the cuts I would of made
No one could of saved

16 Million
16 million babies each year are engineered by teen mothers
But lets look a little smaller
273,105
Girls who annually contrive babies to life in the United States
But lets divide that number down further
35,249
Adolescent girls whose lives become defined by a child in the state of California alone
But once more lets focus in even smaller
1.
One Athena Young.
Standing slightly over 5 feet tall, with chocolate kissed skin shelling her strong build and a wide white smile full of joyous laughter that covers convincingly that which you would only know if you asked her: that she is a teen mother whose heart and soul has sufficiently suffered.

Perhaps from birth she didn’t stand a chance
Pushed out of the womb to a path of dissonance between success and endurance
A low class family whose glance rests not on her best advance but on their personal pleasure
So on they prance leaving her alone at night to fend for her own life.
And as she navigates this path she is stopped in a trance of seemingly endless romance
That swept her up into a dance that waltzed whimsically one night to her bedroom where she let this boy advance into her pants.
And that once seemingly endless romance crash lands as he implants into her the blow that log jams her path of success and sling shots her to side of endurance.
Fraught and distraught because she was never taught how to not by the people who brought her into the world
Or maybe to spite the strife they have placed in her life because as words from her sorrowed soul said “its when you don’t care about disappointing someone that bad things happen”…
And happen they did as we bid goodbye to the boy who didn’t try to be a father to his joy and pride or a husband to a bride
But instead strode out of sight with a gun at his side to a land that didn’t care whether he lived or he died because he refused to stay true to the girl tangled in his tango.
Left her glued to a growing womb
A single struggling parent, seclusion and confusion in raising a brilliant baby girl in this wicked world she had not yet navigated herself.
And grades started to drop as her life was dragged and dropped to 4 different spots within 3 sun cycle slots.
She said if only they had known that chaos that was going on at home
And the baby that was growing then they could have shown her grace and love…
But they would soon know and throw her out with doubt that she could complete courses while her veins coursed with blood to flood nutrients to nourish her new fetus.
Alone.
No comfortable home.
A lack of understanding left her with no friends to call her own.
No potential for preferential favor on this jagged darkening path too well known.
Abandoned
When suddenly a light landed and handed her a second chance to better advance
To move past her heart-break romance
Her families abstinence,
Her friends distance,
Her schools disinterest.
What was this glorious light?
The alternative high school Mark Twain,
Provided shelter in the acid rain of isolation and pain,
Tamed the sinister storm that reigned and splayed her life into disarray.
For Shanti, a beautifully big-eyed bubbly baby,
Twain gave certain shelter and care from an elder so health could bury deep and fester while her mother, her positive protector, could center on gaining a degree that in theory will better their cumulative future.

But perhaps the hill to highlight is the hunk of hamlet handed to her.
A gallant group of life-giving girls, warrior women who baked and bore and breathed life into children.
Allowing her alienating anomie to be history by fulfilling her need for meaningful community. People who can share relating stories of baby daddy drama, family problems, baby progress. They understood and gave value to a valiant victor whose violent world had previously brought her bitter.
There was room to be a mother,
And room to be just another teenager
A people that taught her to lead her daughter to grow up with honor of her soul’s armor so the similar story would not cycler any further.
And her giving advice to her fellow friends raising soon to be men to avoid the vice she strides against, to teach their boys “to not leave the girl”, striving and fighting to brighten the bleak world that they are no longer merely surviving but thriving in with the aid of the high school who looks past the “normal” and “socially acceptable” and to the broken and vulnerable.
Now she sits.
Waiting.
Anticipating.
The degree her hands will soon hold.
The college campus her calloused feet will soon conquer.
Seeing her dreams of being a military general driving down the street towards reality
Thanks to the inspiring community.

So 1.
One Athena Young.
One out of 16 million moms
Whose once overcast life has forever been spun to the ever-brightening sun
By a school that showed her love and
By friendships that fought to rise above.

My love for the lord,
My God;
I love you so much,
You'll Save me from my sin;
You are life,
Your are my soul.

by Arcassin Burnham


Old heads in the kitchen pouring drinks
for everyone,
Thoughts are on vacation and his body
blocked the sun,
Flowers from his home cause his thoughts
were made to run,
playing back movies his head when he
was a child having fun,
alone,
you have no idea,
this man is broken,
he'll fit the bill,
keeps his faith at home,
leaving but you won't be here tomorrow,
leaving but you can't cure all your sorrows,
your just one man,
we all understand,
your worth.

http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/03/leaving-tomorrow.html

( A reaction to Atul's poem, "Acknowledgement Long Due")


A well of words springs forth in every man's mind....they are either uttered...or written down...they could raise...or break,
someone's nerves, hopes or wall...

Words,  too, could be a source of strength
to be read...to be heard...channeled...offered...
to those in need of help...

Words may be a cradle....swaying.....
catching what could be falling...
or what has almost fallen...flat on the ground
a pad, that could soften the impact of a fall...

Words are a hammock, tied securely, between two trees
the trees move...but stay firm and steadfast
as the hammock swings to and fro...

I am a tree...my leaves and twigs,
being blown wild, by gusty winds
but i was swayed...i was calmed,
upon reading the words...sincere thoughts of a fellow poet...
my day was saved.

Sally

Copyright February 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan