When half the world turns cold and fades to grey,
The flowers weep, their colors torn apart,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.

The skies once blazed with gold at break of day,
Now hollow specters whisper in the dark—
When half the world turns cold and fades to grey.

The rivers, once alive in bright array,
Flow silent now, as if they’ve lost their heart,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.

The echoes of a sun too weak to stay
Stretch long across the fields that fall apart—
When half the world turns cold and fades to grey.

No songbird dares to lift a tune in play,
Their voices muted, broken from the start,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.

Yet still, I hope the hues will find their way,
That color will return where shadows start,
When half the world turns cold and fades to grey,
And light surrenders, lost without its ray.

It may sound narcissistic,
Paint me as a cynic,
But I must admit,
I sometimes surprise myself,
That everyone’s lives,
Are just as complicated as mine.
Everyone thinks,
Everyone feels,
Everyone cries,
And everyone dies.
The way people act sometimes,
Makes you wonder if there’s a thought beyond their eyes,
But there is,
Just like there is behind mine.
We are all complex people,
With desires and dreams,
Goals and aspirations,
Pain and fears,
Ups and downs,
Strengths and weaknesses,
It’s enlightening.

I hold onto a rope,
Though I don’t know where it goes,
But I’ll keep on holding tightly,
Since I fear what lies below.
Somedays it’s hard to hold onto hope,
Somedays I wish I’d just let go,
But I won’t,
I won’t.
I’ll climb out of the hole,
That my friend dug to bury me,
With her resentment,
And discontentment.
I won’t let her pain be my end,
Like it nearly was for her.
On those dark days,
When there’s so much unknown,
The one thing,
That’ll stay the same,
Is my hope.
I will make it to brighter days!

When the words
"I am a poet"
escapes from my lips,
people claim how full
of emotions I must be.

They seem to be shocked,
when they get to read me,
my poetry, my work,
how little emotional I am.

I am a poet,
because once upon a time
I chose to write
instead of dying.

Only when I let my thoughts be free,
I allow myself to feel,
and only when I write
I get to know some version of me.

When the bill came,
We split it,
Not because we couldn’t afford it
Or because one of our egos
Got in the way.
The world has enough debt
And definitely enough lies.
The first step to getting to know
Each other is to stop pretending
That we’re anything other than human.

I love the way you took your time
Looking over the menu,
Not a quick glance, but in a thoughtful,
Meaningful Way,
Considering what you really wanted.
Something that would keep you full,
Even after you left.
I could see myself falling in love
With you,
Taking your time before speaking,
Processing every word,
Not afraid to explain after you speak.

The money didn’t matter.
Regardless of the circumstances,
It would still be spent
Why not share the experience?
No different than me holding
My fork up, asking you
To try what’s on my plate.

There’s no need to hide who we are,
Whether my stomach growls
In front of you or when I’m away.
There are things more important
Than money.
The place closes in a couple more
Hours.
Want to order something else?
My treat?

To those who complain about the mundane,
It’s just your paradigm changing your fate.
I hope you realize before it’s too late,
That being miserable isn’t a fun game.

Don’t you understand that the mundane,
Will be most of your existence,
Not every day,
Is filled with endless enjoyment and stimulus.
Some days are just meh,
That’s how the game is played.
It’s such a waste of your breath,
To complain.

“I’m tired!”
So am I.
Of listening to your endless whining,
About how today’s the worst day of your life.
You’ll survive.
I swear,
You’ll be fine.
Your complaining is so degrading,
And depriving me of life.

“I don’t want to be here!”
Neither do I.
I don’t want to listen to you speak one more time.
To hear another ungrateful leave your mind.
Do you not realize how lucky you are to be alive?
Breathe, take it in,
Just don’t make me sit through it again.

“I’m bored!”
That’s good!
You’ll learn that sometimes things aren’t always as interesting,
As you think they should.
Why does the world have to entertain you?
Why can’t you just be satisfied?
Why must you spiel your discontentment?
I’ve found that can lead to resentment…

Don’t you see that the mundane,
Can be beautiful in its own way?
Those days where you have no plans,
Whatever happens happens,
And that’s okay.
The simple days,
Where things don’t feel so complicated,
Or frustrating,
Yet you find a way to keep complaining!

It makes me feel like I’m going crazy!
If you can’t beat them, join them.
But if I did,
I would go against the theme of this poem.
Complaining is such a waste of words,
And time.
Is it worth it,
To waste it,
On that?
I’d say that it isn’t.

Count your blessings.
If you can’t think of anything,
Then you better think harder.
There’s always something,
That anyone can be thankful for.
It’s feels a lot more gratifying,
Than just incessant complaining.
I’ve got my mom and my dad,
The ones who make sure my head’s ******* on just right,
Who keep me in the fight.

Don’t you ever get tired,
Of saying the same old things?
Of complaining,
About what everyone already thinks?
Are you that unoriginal,
Uninspired, and bland,
That you can’t see the beauty,
In your hands?

I hope you get a good night’s sleep,
You’ll need it,
When you find that tomorrow’s just today,
With a different name.
And I know,
You’ll complain again,
To your friends,
And they’ll do the same.
I hope when you’re older,
You’ll see,
That this life is what you make it.
No one said it was easy,
So we have to keep pushing through it.
Your complaining adds nothing,
But fuel to the fire,
If only you could see it,
If you weren’t blinded by your ire.

To those who complain about the mundane,
I know that some days,
May be filled with hate,
Or pain,
But it’s not a good aim,
To wish your life away.

Maybe that's love
the space that exists between things,
the reason there are gaps
between our fingers.
Between everything.
I'd never been good at using chopsticks.
I'd always drop them trying to grip
something heavy,
something more substantial.
One stick would go left, the other
would go right,
making a mess of everything.

Rice was easy.
But then again, maybe that's how love works.
snapping between the space of things,
Because she could pick them up
and use them, no problem.

It kind of changes your perspective
when you're hungry and can't eat
how you want to eat.
Rice is good, but I wanted something a bit heartier.
Something me and my clumsy
hands could enjoy.
She'd laugh,
chowing down on her noodles,
all tangled and twisted up.
It came naturally to her.
Me, I just couldn't get it.
The more we sat,
the more I craved something
Other than rice.
I craved her heart.
Steady, patient.
I didn't know how to hold her
But one day I'll learn how

The chef holds the knife in the air for a brief second,
Then brings it down, slicing through the food.
We feel the heat from the grill splash our face,
a mix of grease sizzles from the flames.
This wasn’t a bad place to get out of the house.
I’m glad that we chose to come here.

Not being funny when I say this,
but there’s something about the way you eat.
Hunger is hunger, but you’re pretty
the way you hold your fork to your mouth,
the way your cheeks move up and down.

If the conspiracy theorists are right
and the world ends in the next few minutes,
you’ll have savored the last taste of my air,
the last taste of this place,
the last taste of this neighborhood.

If I were to tell you how I feel in this moment,
you’d swear I was trying to talk about you.
But it’s more than that.
I love the way your eyes are satisfied with what’s in front of you
and how soft they become.

The chef chops and sizzles the rice, onions, shrimp, and steak.
The oil and sauces bubble up on the grill,
mixing into the smoke, the grill hissing,
watching us feed ourselves one bite at a time.

Public decency is a thing,
though a kiss is the only thing I must settle for.
I want to rise from you like the steam rises from the grill,
the salt of your skin melting on my tongue
as soon as it touches.

It’s comforting watching you eat,
the way the sauce that marinated the shrimp
smears against your lips,
the way you lick it off
like nothing’s happened.

The chef throws more food on the grill
and clangs his spatula.
We’re far from full,
and I’m glad that of all places,
we decided to come here.

The air is filled with savory smells,
and still, I smell your perfume.
I catch you staring at me,
but it’s not just any stare
I love it, the way you look at me.

Whatever piece of you still hungers
bites off pieces of me every time you blink.
To think of your stomach as my final resting place,
your lips drenched in soy sauce.
If you could devour me whole, I bet that you would.

After all, our feelings,
this way we feel about each other,
are as raw as the meat and veggies
the hibachi chef throws on the grill,
and the way you smile,
and the way you wiggle and dance in your seat.

I want to be one of the things that satisfies you like that
the way you smile, the way you look at me,
making me feel just that.
Not just exposed,
but taming your hunger in complete satisfaction.

My heart beats and clangs
like the spatula in front of us.
There’s no sense in hiding what we feel,
soon the hunger will become too much.
The smoke from the grill intensifies this feeling tenfold.

Regardless of the lights, the other couples,
the rice or the steak,
you're not food.
No matter how bad I want to wrap my lips around you.
When the check comes, there’s no point in looking at it with question.
We’re both satisfied

A Poem By: Reece Ellison
The Immortal One sits solemnly in his favorite field of sunflowers.
He waits patiently for time to pass.
He doesn’t have to wait long,
It’s happening all around him.
He watches the people in the town below,
They work so hard all throughout their lives,
And in return they receive nothing…
Nothing at all.

The Immortal One wasn’t always immortal,
Contrary to the town folks' beliefs.
He was once a normal human just like the rest of them,
Oh, how he missed those days,
Little did he know that that was just the first phase,
Of his life that is.
Back then he had a family,
A wife and a daughter.
His memory has faded over time,
But through it all, he remembers their names,
Lydia his wife, and Luna his daughter.

Those were the simpler times,
When he would watch his daughter play in the fields of sunflowers,
The same one he lays in now.
His wife had always loved sunflowers,
That’s why he lived where he did,
He loved the smile on her face when she would look out every day.
One day he was searching the forest.
Because his daughter had not come home,
She was lost and captured by monsters,
But not for long.
He followed them into a cave,
The place where the monsters called home.
As he searched for his daughter,
He found some sort of stone.
He was entranced by its beauty,
He reached out his hand and grabbed it,
Suddenly energy and power surged through him,
And the Immortal One was born.

It didn’t take him long to find her,
The monsters were very loud.
He found her tied to a tree,
The monsters were preparing to feast.
His anger reached a breaking point,
Power surged from his veins,
In the blink of an eye, the monsters were vaporized,
And Little Luna was saved.

Before he knew it his little girl wasn’t little anymore.
His wife’s beautiful scarlet hair faded to a gray.
She was still as sweet as she always was,
All the way to her final days.
The Immortal One looked just the same.
Not much about his appearance changed.
Except his eyes looked more tired and sad,
As the truth finally sunk in.
At first, he thought that the stone was a blessing,
He saved people all around the village he lived in.
He later realized that it was a curse,
Too much power for one man to master,
And too much pain down the line.

It was a pretty summer day,
When Lydia was buried in that field which she did love.
That day it rained heavily,
He knew that it was a sign.
By that point, Little Luna had a family,
Husband Ryder, son Luke, and their daughter Emma.
They were all there on the funeral day,
Then afterward they all cried themselves to sleep.

Then in what seemed like weeks to the Immortal One,
But was actually decades,
Luna was buried beside her mom.
The Immortal One used all his anger,
And a crater in the Earth was left when he was done.
Why did he have to touch that stone?
Why did he have to watch them die?
Unfortunately, his powers couldn’t save them,
It was their destiny.
He had beaten a whole lot of monsters,
In many shapes, forms, and sizes.
At the end of the day,
His worst enemy,
Was time…

He watched as the small little village he protected,
Blossomed into a little town,
Which then turned into a city,
The place he still called home.
He still fought off monsters,
He still made sure that the people were safe,
Every night he cried,
For everything he lost.

Lydia had a little nursery rhyme,
That she would sing to Luna as a baby,
Who then passed it on to her children,
They kept the memories alive.
It went like this:
Don’t let me see those tears fall down your cheek,
It’s too beautiful outside to cry.
The sun is shining,
The sunflowers are dancing on the Earth.
Then when the Moon shines bright at night,
Tell him what troubles you.
Then close your eyes,
And bask in the somber moonlight.

All that the Immortal One could think about,
Was all that he lost.
Even though centuries had gone by,
And the world changed so much.
He still felt the pain of loss,
Deep in his heart,
His broken heart…
He sat in his favorite sunflower field,
And watched as day faded to night.
It was at that moment,
That he finally had enough,
No more suffering.
He was going to put everything to rest.
He used all of his pain,
And created a spark with the power to destroy the world,
And him.
Just one touch of that spark to the Earth,
And everything would be gone.
Flashbacks from all the memories,
All the people he met along the way.
Why did life have to be so painful?
Why did things have to end this way?
The full moon shined its bright lights,
And he was ready to finally die,
As he cried.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder,
Through the darkness, he saw a little girl’s eyes.
Looked similar to Little Luna’s
She told him “Tonight is too beautiful a night to die.”
He sensed the girl,
Was one of his descendants.
He couldn’t destroy the whole world,
At that moment he was reminded,
How beautiful nature was.
They set down into the sunflower field,
As the moonlight shone in their eyes.
It was in that moment,
Both began to sing:
Don’t let me see those tears fall down your cheek,
It’s too beautiful outside to cry.
The sun is shining,
The sunflowers are dancing on the Earth.
Then when the Moon shines bright at night,
Tell him what troubles you.
Then close your eyes,
And bask in the somber moonlight.

The Immortal One told the girl to go home to bed,
She did reluctantly but said,
“Don’t let the simple things pass you by.”
Then she left,
But the Immortal One didn’t cry.
He used the power in that spark,
And opened a doorway deep into the dark.
Through the door, he saw a whole new world,
A fresh new start.

As he went to take a step,
He told this world goodbye,
The little girl called out “Wait!”
He turned around,
And there she was,
And she had decided,
She was coming too.
The Immortal One told her no.
She had a family waiting for her to come home.
The little girl said she didn’t,
They were killed long ago.
She wanted to leave this place behind,
And go on a different adventure,
And who better to go with,
Then a protector of the world?

So with that, they both gazed through the gateway,
A whole new journey was just about to begin.
As they stepped through the portal,
The Immortal One realized he had gained a friend.