I remember my first 1,062 words,
Every syllable written with an sketch of my pain,
I remember the days
Where "words" helped me ease the pain.
         in this sentence I can't complain.
I owe it all to the lines
L I E
The truth into somewhat,
Only POETRY understands..
How it made me a man.
If poetry was your mouth piece
What would you stand
Foe?

RAISE UP YOUR FIST,
OR SHALL I SAY!
YOUR PEN!
EMPOWER THESE YOUNG, INSPIRING, INTELLIGENT WRITERS
Age does not mix between the lines.
Write.
Write.
WRITE.

-Words are powerful, don't stop writing.


  

                                                  ­          ©MH

In every hello,
Every coffee date,
Every awkward new hug
Or handshake,
I search
For your autumnal smile,
Your thick accent,
A familiar embrace—

And then the haunting  
Fear
Rushes in;
I remember
Exactly
Why you’re a ghost
And not a lover.

I close my eyes
And yearn to forget you,
Let your spectre
Burn
To ash

So, I’m drawn to your religion
On the basis of aesthetic.
I want to feel the way that
Golden, plump, laughing Buddha
Feels without having to read the stories.
I want to embrace the wu wei--
Whatever that means--
I want to sit criss-crossed
In the long, naples yellow grass
With no ticks.
In the orange afternoon sun
With no nighttime.  
I want to worship at a smoky altar
And feel the arms of
My Goddess wrap around me.
Hear her voice: slow, smooth, but stern.
“Thank you,” for the sacrifice.
I want to be divine--God
Gaze down from the Heavens
And take pride in my light
Like I am your son;
I want to be free of the burden
Of my humanness,
Lifted,
Cleansed,
Purified.
I wish to be free of desire
And so it is the desire which ails me.
And I curse nothing more
Than I curse my hungry heart
And my faulty mind.
Lifted,
Cleansed,
Purified.

Into a tunnel beyond darkness and light
The soul makes a journey under cover of night
The course of this voyage cannot be explained
A path toward the life source which cannot be named
Its secret location no road map reveals
But he who goes searching must trust what he feels
The circumference is nowhere, the center right here
But to even the wisest it will not appear
Hinted at only on the hero’s return
No shape to behold and no form to discern

It’s hard to accept in our rational age
When every known fact has its own wiki page
But among the cold data a gap still remains
A sense of experience eclipsing our brains
A sense of emerging, belonging and will
An aura of something consisting of nil
Neither tiny, nor mammoth, nor cool, nor hot
For all that it is, it most chiefly is not
Neither seen, nor touched, nor felt, nor heard
Borne on the wind like an unspoken word