So from the Void
Doth Being spring?
To serve no maker,
But Man?

I don't know how to explain it,
But somehow, it seems like the world
Has gotten louder AND quieter
At the same time

A hero may wear a cape,
But that doesn’t mean they’re Superman,
They all pale in comparison,
Just another human,
Whether a man or a woman,
Their motives hidden behind their ribbons
Trying to make the world a better place.

A hero may preach peace,
But that doesn’t mean they believe it,
Often it’s just about their image.
The war must go on,
Never will everyone be happy,
There’s too much to complain about,
To be ungrateful about,
To not see the beauty of the planet we call home.
The hero may say they are against this complaining,
Yet, you see them in the streets doing the exact same thing.

Never meet your heroes,
You realize how much you inflated their heroics,
When you meet them in person,
You see how, perhaps, they weren’t a hero at all.
They aren’t a villain,
Just not a hero,
Not what you originally believe,
Yet you convinced yourself they were perfect.
Perfection is a losing game.

What makes a hero?
What makes someone noble?
Or have honor?
Or courage?
People love to play these roles,
Put them on like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
You can always spot a fake,
They just feel disingenuous.
How can you have honor,
And preach your mantra,
Yet cut in the lunch line,
Like you’re better than all of the rest behind you?
That’s not honor!
That’s being a two-faced dishonorable fraud!
Like so many people,
Who wear the “honorable” facade.

I wouldn’t call myself honorable,
I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
Made mistakes I regret,
Have demons in my heart,
Who remind me where I misstep.
I refuse to identify,
As something I’m not,
It makes me feel icky,
Dishonest, and like a fraud.
Who relishes this feeling,
Of lying for qualities they don’t have?
What do you gain?
Recognition?
Fame?
All temporary in the grand scheme of the game.

A hero isn’t pure,
They’ve done things they despise themselves for,
Yet they try their best,
To not make the same mistake again.
They try to make a change,
Instead of complaining!

A hero isn’t good,
Or great,
And certainly not extraordinary,
They’re decent,
Down to earth,
Understanding of their faults,
Yet they push forward anyway.
They try to please people,
Not worth their time,
All in an effort,
To see them smile.
They try to save people,
To far gone to save,
Yet, they try anyway,
For they can’t accept,
That some people can’t be saved,
And are lost in the darkness.

Nobility,
Not kings or queens,
But high standards and ideas,
Yet to be expressed,
They haven’t found the words.
A hero has morals,
One’s that won’t change,
Based on who they talk to,
Their code remains the same.
That’s what takes honor,
That’s what takes strength,
Being yourself despite the gremlins,
And the goblins,
And the orcs,
Being yourself,
No matter who’s watching.
“With integrity and honor,
For people to see.”
Words long forgotten,
In our memories.

Integrity requires honor,
Which requires being noble,
Which goes hand in hand with courage and bravery.
A hero is all of these things,
Combined into a pie,
And though we humans try to replicate the recipe,
We end up exploding the kitchen,
Leaving fallout in our wake.

To me the idea of a hero,
Is more reliable than seeing it in reality,
Someone so honest,
So kind,
Understanding,
And always fighting for what they believe is right.

A villain is a hero,
Just for the other side,
With other motives,
And ways of working things out,
And the hero is the villain to the villain.
Who is right and who is wrong?
The common question.
Often times it’s not so black and white,
Nuances aplenty,
If you open your eyes.
Some are just cruel,
But some have a reason for the heinous actions they do,
Occasionally,
I root for the villain.

We may come close,
But we will never see the perfect hero,
He’s already left.
While we wait,
We can dream,
And aspire to be,
Like Superman.
As the old pledge went,
“When no one else is watching,
It is up to me!”
And so it always will be,
For each of us is the hero in our own story…

I’ve decided I’ve more things to say,
Thoughts wishing to escape my brain,
Whether it’s wrong or whether it’s right,
Prepare for a third piece of my mind.

Is it just me,
Or is communicating,
The hardest trial of life?
Living isn’t hard to me,
It’s coexisting that’s filled with strife.
Trying and failing to express ideas,
In a way that makes sense,
That they can comprehend,
These abstractions of thoughts in my head.

Talking is hard,
Especially when your mouth and your brain,
Aren’t on the same wavelength.
You think one thing,
And say another,
Leaving nothing but shame,
And discomfort.
Sometimes you say the wrong things,
At the wrong time,
To the wrong person,
Such is life.
They push you away,
You feel regret,
Part of the process,
You can’t take it back.
Apologies are just more words,
Added to the wound,
Actions are more powerful,
For better or for worse.

There’s something mesmerizing about the piano,
One of, if not, my favorite instruments.
The piano can make me happy,
Nostalgic,
Sad,
Or bittersweet,
All with a couple of keys.
How powerful when held,
Hearing the strings ring.
However,
I prefer the sad piano songs,
They do a perfect job,
Painting the scene,
Of bittersweet contentment.
The somber melodies make me long,
For those early childhood days,
The ones I rarely remember,
Basking in the sun’s rays.
How miraculous,
And part of what makes the human experience so grand,
How these feelings can be stirred,
From a few notes played,
On a grand piano.

To fit with the tradition,
I’ll quote a song by Alec Benjamin,
This one titled,
“The Plan,”
This is the chorus.
“What I wanted then isn’t what I’ve got now,
But if I did it again I wouldn’t change it anyhow,
I had a vision in my head,
I even wrote it all down,
The plan didn’t work but it all worked out.
The plan didn’t work but it all worked out.”
This song laments on how plans can change,
And paths we’re lead can be different than what we imagine,
Yet, even so,
The path we’re on,
Is the one we’re meant to walk
I agree…

Sometimes it’s difficult for me to distinguish,
Between an acquaintance and a friend.
Is it based on time known?
Or the quality of the relationship?
Or how well you click?
Or do I just overcomplicate it?
Sometimes I wish,
I thought less,
Because sometimes it seems,
Like a curse…

Here we are at the end,
Another poem at its conclusion,
My mind feels at ease,
Finally feeling included.
Only one more piece of my mind remains to be said,
The rest I’ll keep hidden in my head.
Farewell,
Until next time,
Where I unleash,
The final piece of my mind…

There was an old cat lady,
Everyone thought she was crazy.
Who needs ten cats?
Didn’t care for her reasoning,
Too busy judging,
They didn’t care that,
Her husband had died,
And she was keeping his memory alive.

While the adults kept their distance,
The kids of the neighborhood were fascinated,
Especially the cat lovers,
Though the dog lovers were interested too.
She would sit on her front porch,
Smile and wave,
And on summer days,
Make the children lemonade.
She would tell them stories,
Of her adventures on this Earth,
Their imaginations running rampant,
From her descriptions.
They would listen,
To both her and the cats they would be petting,
And hear their purring.
Those were the happier times.

Over the years,
The old cat lady,
Grew even older,
And moved slower.
Yet she still sat on the porch,
Greeting the kids that walked by.
When they saw her smile,
Their worries and anxieties were left far behind.
Her lemonade, divine,
Along with her key lime pie,
Dining to die for.

She remembered each child’s name,
And would even give the gifts for Christmas,
She didn’t want to see them sad,
They were just kids,
And life hadn’t started yet,
For them.

She rocked on her rocking chair,
Cats sitting everywhere,
Purring contently,
As was the old cat lady,
Enjoying every moment,
Though her lover was long gone,
She found a new purpose,
And her sorrows passed on.

The kids were now in high school,
Still visited every now and then,
To brief her on their lives,
How she valued that time.
They were all so different,
Each student was unique,
With their own special interests,
She prayed that they would succeed.
On Christmas Day,
They surprised the old cat lady,
With a gift from each of the former kids,
Scarfs and mittens,
Chocolates,
And blankets,
And even sweaters for the cats.
The old cat lady cried happy tears,
For the first time in her life.
She was content,
She felt alive.

Then as summer showed its face,
One blistering day,
The old cat lady,
Wasn’t rocking on her porch,
The cats weren’t purring on her lap.
There weren’t any sounds coming from the house,
The lights were off.
The students broke the front door down,
And searched the house.

They found her on her bed,
Surrounded by,
Her furry friends,
They were snuggling,
Wishing,
Their owner would awake,
But she was dead.
She had gone,
In her sleep,
Peacefully.
The students cried,
As they dialed,
The police,
They took her body away,
Much to her cats’ dismay.

The funeral was rough,
Adults not feeling bad enough,
For they had been too afraid,
To get to know the old cat lady.
The students cried,
And covered their eyes,
They couldn’t believe,
She had died.

The students would take turns,
Going to her humble abode,
To feed her cats,
Since nobody wanted them,
Not that they wanted to leave their home.
Yet, when they went inside,
With food in hand,
They were surprised,
To find,
The cat bowls filled with food,
And lemonade prepared.
She figured it was,
The least that she could do,
To ease their hurting minds…

The hardest emotion to understand,
So much more than just holding hands,
How mesmerizing when done right,
Not when every night’s a fight.
It can last decades,
Or a matter of minutes,
Of course for those whose love is so short,
I think they don’t understand it.

Love is more than just a feeling,
It’s a promise,
A commitment,
A pact between two lovers,
To try their hardest to make things work.
You don’t just let it go,
When someone else catches your eye,
That just shows,
You weren’t ready for the next stage of your life.
It makes you scummy,
Immature,
At least to me.
And what you felt wasn’t love but what we call,
Infatuation.
You saw a pretty face,
And thought that meant forever,
Till you realized that,
There’s more fish in the river.
You didn’t care about personality,
Or charm,
Just a short-lived burst,
Of so-called “Love,”
Breaking more hearts than one.

Highschool’s the precipice,
Of people who don’t know what they’re doing,
I guess you have to learn somehow,
Or you could just bide your time and wait,
Save the slander and the drama,
And keep yourself from crashing down.
People together one day,
Broken up and bitter the next,
Could you even consider,
That a relationship?
What happened to commitment?
What in the world is going on?
Sometimes it feels,
Like I’m living in a breakup song.
There’s only so much empathy,
One can feel,
For those who do the same thing,
Over and over again,
Expecting something to change.

Some people are purely content,
To remain single,
Their whole lives.
I respect it,
But can’t understand it.
Do they ever feel lonely,
Like they want something more?
Or are they too scared,
To reach for the double-edged sword?
For fear of the cut,
Or the pain that follows,
Little do they know,
You can’t have one without the other.

Some people believe that love is just romantic,
So they misunderstand when people say to love one another,
Platonically exists,
And in some ways,
Blossoms brighter than the rest.
Just having a good friend,
Who’s there when no one else is,
That kind of relationship,
One of dreams…

Hollywood always shows,
Overly romantic couples making out in the hallway,
Overly romantic at least to me.
They say there’s about five different love languages,
I’d say I’m a mixture of a few.
I wouldn’t be one for touch,
Or one for getting excessive gifts.
I’d rather be a help,
And be reminded how much I mean,
With some words of affirmation,
And some quality time,
Sounds like peace to me.

There is one I adore,
There was another,
But the feelings faded,
And the others grew stronger.
However, like I did before,
I’ll bite my tongue,
And not say a word.
Waiting for the feelings,
To subdue.
To cowardly to confess,
How much they mean to me,
Too much overthinking,
About if they feel the same way towards me.
Why does this have to be so hard?
Rejection is a pain that leaves a nasty scar.
Is it worth it to take the risk?
Or better to kick myself later as the feeling friskily,
Leaves me?

I used to think love was overrated,
Especially at my age,
And while I still do,
Upon recent overview,
Of friendships,
And addition of loneliness,
I question,
My previous,
Motives.

I need someone who understands me,
Someone who cares for me,
Even on the days,
Where I don’t see,
What they love,
They stay…
They don’t run away,
Just cause it’s hard,
They stay beside me.
Someone patient,
Someone kind,
Someone willing,
To stand by my side.
Someone to inspire,
A book of their own.

I believe true love is out there,
You just have to be patient enough to keep looking,
Despite no results.
There’s someone out there,
For you…
Probability almost guarantees it,
There are billions of people on this blue planet.
A lot who are lonely,
And looking,
For you…

I’ll never understand,
How some people confuse,
Abuse and misuse,
For love.
The people who take it,
Too nice and too forgiving,
And sometimes have nowhere to go.
The world would be a better place,
If the abusers and misusers,
Were erased…

Despite what I’ve said,
About immaturity and scumminess,
Yes, I understand,
Sometimes it’s just not meant to be.
But when people go around,
And do the same charade again,
Empathy dies,
Replaced with karma,
Who never lies…

There’s a rant from a poet,
Who wants a feeling he doesn’t fully understand.
Yet he longs for it,
Hoping it finds him,
He’s reaching out his hand,
Waiting,
For someone to take it,
And tell him that they love him,
For who he is,
All of it,
The good,
The bad,
And the ugly,
Because the truth is I’m a mess.
That is what true love is,
Unconditional,
And so,
So hard,
To find,
Amidst a pile,
Of broken,
Bitter,
Hearts.

There’s nothing that gets me more excited,
Then hearing we’re eating,
Grandma’s biscuits this afternoon.
Whether morning, evening, or night,
I’ll eat them at any time.

So many stories,
Of a long life,
I can barely picture.
Ones filled with joy,
Humor,
Pain,
And grief.
How I delight,
To hear her tales,
Whether tall or not.

Every year,
She visits her sister,
Out in Michigan,
And they go on a trip,
To Arizona.
If I was her age,
I wouldn’t want to move,
I see the pain,
Behind her smile.
I know, though,
As long as she can,
She’ll visit her sister,
In Michigan.

During the summer,
When things seem to slow,
She’s there with activities,
To mellow out the flow.
Yet sometimes, I admit,
I complain and I groan,
A foolish mistake,
The effects not yet shown…

We’ve been through a lot,
She’s seen a lot more than I,
Yet we share that connection,
That connection,
Of family tied so tight.

One of her sons,
Fell in a hole,
And picked up a bottle,
And sold his soul.
I know it wasn’t my fault,
And out of my control,
Yet the way I reacted,
To his actions,
Haunts my soul.
Where he used to reside,
Gutted and reformed,
Filled with fabric,
Waiting to be used.
Sometimes I walk into that room,
To remember…

Even when she’s hurting,
And she can barely walk,
She’ll fix up a supper,
Before you can stop her.
Her stubbornness incalculable,
A trait passed to my mom,
And my brother,
And probably me,
I can’t deny,
Sometimes she worries me.

I’ve already witnessed the end,
On my dad’s side,
The lots, eighteen in all,
Or so I thought.
My neighbors to the right,
Shield your eyes…

I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,
When she leaves us behind,
I’ve questioned myself,
Late at night.
I know it’s part of the process,
But that doesn’t numb the pain,
If anything, the inevitably,
Makes it twice as agonizing.
I don’t tell her my worries,
I don’t want to see her cry,
For if she does,
I will,
And we’ll both be a mess.

She’s read my stories,
I haven’t sent her a poem,
Scared, and nervous,
About this side of me.
The part kept hidden,
Until the clacking of keys,
Not a fear of acceptance,
But a fear of worrying.

So for now,
While she’s here,
My sweet,
Mommom,
I’ll enjoy,
Your biscuits,
And your sweet tea.
I’ll push the dark thoughts away,
We’ll cross that bridge someday,
But that day is not today,
So I’ll push the dark thoughts away.

Grandparents,
How special,
How precious,
And finite.
How I love mine…

If I could change the world,
It’d be different that’s for sure,
I won’t tell you what I’d change,
But a couple would be made.
You wouldn’t notice it right away,
Attention would have to be paid.

Would I be the hero?
From a certain point of view.
Would I be a villain?
Perhaps, anything could be true.
I tend to sympathize,
And empathize,
With ones whose chance,
At a good life,
Is taken away.

Would I be the savior?
Don’t give me all the credit.
Would I be the enemy?
Certainly, to some.
Sometimes it’s hard to walk the middle line,
Not knowing if you’re wrong or right.
People try to say it’s just black and white,
But the truth is,
It’s more nuanced,
And scuffed,
With consequences,
So sometimes it’s better just to walk the middle line.
Occasionally, you have to stand and fight.

The hill I will die on,
Is that violence is a double-edged sword.
Does it solve anything,
Or does it only make things worse?
I can see it either way.
So much petty fighting,
All for nothing,
Worth attacking,
Or defending,
Filled with lying,
And deceiving.
So if I could change the world,
This would be something I would change.

Is it just me,
Or does it seem,
That compassion,
Is few and far between?
Decency,
A relic of the past,
Replaced with,
Tribal attacks,
On appearance,
Personality,
Demeanour,
And morality.
Such a waste of time…
Why can’t we just accept,
That everyone is different,
Instead of constantly,
Judging?
Would it be so hard,
To stop arguing,
And fix problems,
Instead of causing more?
If I could change the world…

With all the people in the world,
I see no excuse,
Why so many people feel alone,
It’s absurd!
Whether out of fear,
Or a laugh of faith in oneself,
So many people,
Experience loneliness,
Potential relationships laid to waste.
As with most things,
More nuanced than it seems,
But sometimes I can’t help but wonder,
Could things be better?

And I know,
Things are the way they are for a reason,
But my beating heart,
Wishes for things to be different.
However, with little say,
Besides on the page,
All these thoughts,
Snuffed out and remain,
Out of the light of day…

If I could change the world,
Changes would be made,
Perhaps you’d notice,
Or you’d think they’re still the same.
I can imagine a world,
Free from pain and strife.
But I know,
Without hardship, there’s no growth,
The dark days magnify the light,
Without consequence, for decisions,
Things would break.
Sometimes the hardest thing to cope with,
Is the world’s imperfections,
But in the same vein,
Is the fact,
The world is what you make.
So perhaps what needs to be changed,
Is the view we place,
On our lives,
And our strifes,
And maybe then…

We could change the world…