A wolf,
All alone,
On his lonesome,
Waiting for prey…
Wondering if love,
Is worth the pain…
A sheep stranded far away,
From its herd,
The strangest sheep you’ve ever heard.

This one thinks for itself,
Despite the stereotype,
Of the mindless zombies.
This one thinks it’s something else,
The first of her kind,
Her childish pride.
Her herd says that love is a lie,
A double-edged sword,
A failing dance,
They advise against,
Searching for true love,
A foolish gambit.
She thinks she’ll break the mold,
Be something more than what she’s told,
But her beating heart will be her demise,
As the wolf takes its prize.

The wolf steps out from the forest,
With a coy look on his face,
The sheep is surprised,
And capsized.
She’s been thrown into the waves,
Her heart betrayed her in a million ways.
With a look of interest, she approaches,
As the wolf prepares his script,
He smiles and winks, checking the boxes,
As he licks his lips.

He says,
“Haven’t you heard,
About the predators,
That roam in these woods?
What’s a thing such as yourself,
Doing this far away,
From the herd?”

She says,
“I’m not afraid of danger,
I’m here to break the mold.
You don’t seem quite as scary,
As the elders foretold.
I find the flock a burden,
Following a fool’s lead,
I am an independent,
I’ll go where my heart and mind agree.”
The wolf smiles with glee,
His prey is his guaranteed.

The sheep notices scars,
One on his ear,
And one by his heart,
She empathizes and opens her own,
Ready to hear the stories unfold.

The wolf smiles and points at the one at his ear.
“This one’s from a coyote who cowered in fear.”
He pointed next to the one by his heart.
“My mom tried to tear me apart.”
The sheep’s soul aches and groans,
Feeling empathy for a wolf unknown,
Smiling softly she asks for his name.
“Anwir,” He says and bows his head.
“Amora,” She responds, bowing along.

Time moves on,
And the pair grow close.
Their love so strong,
It could be a blaze,
And turn the woods,
To an ashen decay.
If only it was,
More than a farce,
Made up by a wolf,
To lure his prey.
So he plays his part,
His life was a stage,
Waiting for the sacred day.

The wolf offers to walk the sheep,
To a place where silence would creep.
The sheep agrees,
Calls it a date,
The wolf smiles with glee,
Sealing the sheep’s fate.

He leads her along,
A stream and a meadow,
Where they got along,
And grew closer together,
All part of his master plan,
Buying time,
To lure her to her end.

He takes her to the precipice,
With nearby mighty cliffs,
The sheep stares into,
The starry night sky.
The wolf feels split in two,
Instinct or love,
He cannot decide.
He remembers his mom,
Who tried,
To eat him to survive.

He lunges,
She thrashes,
She cries,
Her last.
“Why?”
She asks him.
He bows his head,
Before pushing her body,
Of the face of the cliff…

He sits down and gazes at the moon,
So full,
So pure,
Upon instinct, he howls,
Then it clicks,
His actions make no sense.
He flashes back to the sheep.
Smile and eyes,
That pleased him so.
He thinks of her question,
“Why?”
He starts to cry.
Love at first sight,
Ended under a starry night,
With no reason why,
Thus, is played,
The game of life…

The soldier and the poet,
Didn’t know it,
But their fates were intertwined.
Since they were younger,
Filled with vigor,
They attracted each other’s eyes.
It didn’t take long,
Till they were husband and wife,
Together, forever,
For life.

Then the bombs fell,
And the war began,
And the husband,
Had to go away.
He promised his country his life.
Though the poet pled,
It didn’t make,
A difference,
And he went either way.

The poet grabbed her pen,
As her husband trained for war,
She perfected her craft,
As her husband broke his back,
Figuratively,
With all of the attacks,
He was a part of.

She sold her poems,
Of her pain and loss,
And how she saw the world around her.
Her discontentment,
Her resentments,
And the thoughts that flew in her head.
She made a pretty penny,
But it didn’t fix the problem,
Her lover was across the sea.
But she prepared her poems,
To sing to her husband,
To ease his pained mind.

He was deployed to a war-torn city,
Paratrooper,
With parachutes,
Praying not to be shot before you hit the ground.
They had the advantage,
But the forces were stronger than they thought,
And they had heavy losses.
He lost his whole battalion.

Later he came back,
Into her loving arms,
But he wasn’t the same,
At all.
He was more quiet,
Less excited,
As he processed his pain.
He cried,
And she held him tight,
And every night,
She sang to him, lit by the moonlight.
Her favorite was one called,
“My Hero”

“Fighting amidst chaos,
Takes strength beyond belief,
And requires,
Some sacred reprieve.
I’ll hold you close,
Tell you everything’s alright,
I may not be able to change the past,
But that’s fine.
Let the memories fade away,
Don’t forget them,
But don’t let them take control of your brain.
My hero,
My lover,
My husband,
My all in all,
My everything,
My comforter.
Don’t push me away.
On your worst days,
I’ll be your hero,
Like you are mine…”

The soldier fell to tears,
Overcome by grief,
Heart filled with fears,
Wishing for reprieve.
His lover held him close,
He cried into her sleeve,
She asked him, softly,
“Won’t you tell me?”
“It’ll hurt you!” He said.
“I’ve been waiting!”
He cleared his throat,
Lifted his head,
Dried his eyes,
And mourned the dead,
He told her what,
Was in his head.
His choices filled,
With love instead,
Of pain.

She held his face,
And kissed his cheek,
And took her pen,
And wrote down,
All that he said,
Every word,
The saddest tale,
She ever heard.

But he knew,
He was safe,
In her arms,
Far away,
From bombs, and the shots,
And the blood, and the guns.
None of that,
Was here with him,
Just his wife,
His closest friend.

The soldier and the poet,
Didn’t know it,
But their fates were intertwined…

When you’re a beggar,
You take what you can get,
Even if it’s moldy,
Corrosive,
Acidic,
Or rotten,
You take it.
Cause you don’t know,
When your next meal is,
Could be a week,
Or a month,
You just pray that this slop,
Holds you over.

When you’re a beggar,
You can waltz around the town,
Find a place to settle down,
With your broken tin can.
You sit on the corners of the blocks,
Trying your hardest to cause,
Someone to notice your cause.
You’ll find,
People spend a lot of time,
In their own minds,
Meanwhile, you’re starving,
And running out of time.
When you’re a beggar,
And someone reaches out their hand,
You take it,
Even if they throw you to the ground,
You take it.
At least they paid attention,
Even with their misguided intentions,
All you wanted was attention,
So you take it.

When you’re a beggar,
And you see strangers in love,
You wonder,
How that feels,
And if,
Someone,
Could love someone like you.
You walk,
With your fragile shoes,
To the park,
Imagining the blues,
As the sun,
Fades away to many hues.
And you sit,
Underneath your bench,
Your friend,
And you wonder why,
This is your life.
The birds,
Sing their songs to cheer you up,
And at night the crickets do the same,
They just want to see your smile.

When you’re a beggar,
You know people can lie,
And they do it all the time,
To your face,
Or behind,
Your back.
Everyone hides their true intentions,
Behind a mask.

When you’re a beggar,
You’re not the best judge of character,
Your desperation blinds your sight.
Once you’re noticed,
By a person,
You grab on,
And don’t let go.
They may ignore you,
Defame you,
Bully you,
Torture you,
But you stay loyal.
You don’t want to be the villain of the story,
To the person who noticed you were there,
So you stay by their side,
Even when they don’t deserve your care.
How their words can sting.

When you’re a beggar,
Living in your cardboard box,
Inside you’ll bubble,
Where you’d like to remain,
Untouched.
But your body,
Fights against you,
Knowing,
You need someone,
To notice,
That you’re suffering.
You fight every morn,
A battle filled with scorn,
Mostly toward,
Yourself.

When you’re a beggar,
You know you’re at the bottom,
Never stopping,
Your plummet,
To the cold, hard ground.
You pray that someone sees you,
And will reach out their hand to catch you,
Yet you keep falling faster,
With no end in sight.
It’s hard to keep the guise up,
That you are doing fine, but,
You play,
Your role,
Cause life’s a stage.
When you’re a beggar,
Sometimes you just feel down,
You don’t know how,
To stop it,
So you wait.
You know,
Sometimes, it’s okay,
To cry,
So you wait,
And let it out.
Yet others,
Seem determined,
To break you down,
They see you’re broken,
So why not break you more?
I get sick and tired of,
People telling others,
How to live,
Like they know what they’re doing,
They’re lying.
Life can be pulled out from under you,
Just like a carpet,
No one’s a pro at living life,
We just take it a day at a time.

When you’re a beggar,
Sometimes you wonder,
If your problems are noticeable,
Or not.
Then someone,
Walks to your cardboard home,
Takes your hand,
Pulls you up,
Cleans your face,
And gives you twenty bucks.
“I saw you looked sad.
I’m new to the neighborhood,
And I wanted you to know that,
I see you,
And I’m here.
Here’s another,
Twenty dollars.
Actually,
You know what?
Come with me,
Let’s go out to eat,
On me.”
It’s that the best feeling?
Yet, like the setting sun,
And the passage of time,
You blink once,
And they’re gone.
No one knows,
How it feels to be,
On the bottom,
With no ladder to climb up.
With that forty dollars,
And your stomach filled,
You decide, tonight,
To not give up.
Sometimes, I feel like a beggar,
Screaming, taunting,
For fleeting love.
So I’m waiting,
For life to work itself out
People have their goals and desires,
Would you like to know mine?
Contentment.

When you’re a beggar,
You know the greatest treasure,
That’s getting rarer,
Is simply a loyal friend…

The voice that’s rarely heard,
Not outspoken,
Or outgoing enough.
The one who watches the clock,
To see the seconds turn to minutes,
To hours, to days,
Before you know it a year’s gone by.

I have a few things to get off my chest,
Perhaps it would be best.

There are people whose voice is loud,
You can tell them out of the crowd.
Some commanding, others obnoxious,
Others are demanding, and some are boisterous.
I never understood the appeal.
But if one thing is clear,
It’s that they’re confident,
For better or worse,
I just hope they aren’t full of themselves.
As per most things,
Advantageous in moderation.
Too much noise can drive one insane.
But there are highlights too,
Most leaders tend to be loud,
And I think they should.

Then there are people like me,
Quiet, but not dead silent.
Some call us mysteries,
Others find an opportunity to batter someone,
Who they know won’t talk back.
The quiet ones can be seen as arrogant,
Some think we say we’re better in every way,
Far from the truth.
Most of the time when I’m quiet,
It’s because I have nothing to say.
Or I have but I don’t think it’s important.
Don’t understand,
How some say whatever crosses their minds.
Mine bounces off the walls,
Filled with dashing, flashing thoughts.
“Are they judging me?”
“Do they even care at all?”
“What are they thinking about?”
“Am I making a fool of myself?”
“Can I connect with anyone else?”
These thoughts and more,
Rattle on despite no encore.

Apathy’s a dangerous thing,
Not caring or feeling anything.
Sometimes that’s why I don’t speak.
Wandering,
In endless wondering…
Wanderlust,
But where to go?

While most, state their opinions aloud.
I don’t.
Why risk the chance of mockery,
If you don’t have to?
People can be cruel,
Crueler than they realize,
At the time.
I keep my opinions in my head,
Where they fit best.

Sometimes I wonder:
Do people think about what they say,
Before they say it?
Sometimes it feels like,
They just preach what’s on their mind,
Without a thought behind their eyes.
They want to be seen,
To shine,
They want to be heard,
In the Broadway spotlights.
And those two desires,
Trump mostly everything else,
And add fuel to their fire,
Causing them to burn even brighter.

I take my thoughts,
To the page,
Where it’s quiet,
And all my thoughts can flow freely,
Without any pesky blockages.
How freeing,
Yet, how fleeting.

I’ve said what I wanted to say.
Shouted as loud as I could,
Through the noisy maelstrom.
I hope you heard,
What this silent voice had,
Bouncing in his brain…

Four distinct seasons,
Each with their own beauty,
Ambiance, weather, and color,
All for us to enjoy.

I must admit,
Winter’s my favorite.
I like feeling cold,
Not freezing cold,
But cold enough so that when you encompass yourself with blankets,
You feel the comforting warmth of home.
I love the look of the planet,
Underneath a blanket of snow,
The smoothness of the white,
Prettier at night.
The snow as it falls,
Gorgeous as well,
Everywhere you look,
A painting could be painted,
And the beauty would be upheld.
Snowmen on the lawns,
The festive season,
What’s not to love?
Hot chocolate by a fire,
Tales of reindeer flying high in the sky,
All these reasons are why,
Winter’s my favorite.

Followed close behind in both timing and rank,
Springtime.
The weather looks nicer,
The flowers bloom once more,
The rain may seem inconvenient,
But it’s something to be thankful for.
The pitter-patter on my window at night,
Makes me feel,
For a moment,
That everything’s alright.
Don’t forget the flowers,
Of many shades of colors,
How I look forward,
To when the Indian Paintbrushes grow.
Sunflowers,
Irises,
Roses,
Daisies,
And all the others,
Makes the season more special,
Nature’s a wondrous thing.

Now comes the one I least adore,
But still, I know,
It has its strengths.
Summertime,
Is my least favorite.
I’ve never liked the heat,
Especially when it exceeds a hundred degrees,
That’s a bit excessive to me.
It’s the time,
To hit the beach,
To be at peace,
I can practically hear the waves.
Vacations typically wait till this time of year.
Fireworks,
In America,
The booms,
Something to behold.
The weather,
While not ideal for me,
Is still wondrous to see.
Maybe in my later years,
I’ll appreciate the beauty of summer.

Last but not least,
Fall or autumn is third on the list.
Things cool down,
Leaves fall down,
From their trees.
Reds,
Oranges,
Yellows,
And browns,
Litter the grown,
Entrancing the eyes.
They’re something to see,
But not worth to speed.
The crunch beneath your feet,
The air blows deep through the trees.
Halloween,
And the Thanksgiving feast.
Bliss at the finest degree.



The Earth isn’t the only thing,
That goes through seasons,
Life does the same.
Some seasons are dark,
Without a light in sight,
But it’s there,
It’s always there.
Other seasons a filled with joy,
Take those in,
Enjoy the moment,
Because for better or worse,
Like the seasons of the Earth,
It always comes to pass.

You and I are just like the moon
Quiet,
waiting for the world to fall asleep.
Regardless of distance,
we just are.

Anticipation makes everything seem that much further,
especially the ache of things we cannot name.
Things that we cannot control.
As close as it seems,
space lengthens while we're awake.

Maybe that's why we surround ourselves with dark things
so that when we open our eyes,
we can think of a name
for how much we miss each other,
Other than silence.
Something that fills the space
While we think

People are the strangest things
This world has ever seen.
Complicated to a fault,
More than any other living being.
Think of relationships,
The way people act towards each other,
Whether platonic or romantic,
Still so complicated.

I often wonder,
What makes a friend?
So I’ve compiled a list of attributes,
I’d consider favorable.
In an attempt,
To answer this question.

A friend should be someone who cares for you,
Someone who is mutually interested in you,
Who you are, and what you do,
And long to see you grow.
A friend should understand you,
And not judge, but be compassionate.
Is that too much to ask?
A friend should love you unconditionally,
Not necessarily romantically,
For just being you.

A friend shouldn’t make you feel ignored,
Alone, or insignificant.
Friendships shouldn’t tear at the slightest push of buttons,
Of events that occurred,
Years and years ago.
Friends shouldn’t say crude things that they know aren’t true,
To demean, or hurt,
The ones they’re supposed to care about.
A friend shouldn’t use or abuse,
Physically or emotionally,
That’s for enemies.

I watch people socialize,
Mainly the ones who are considered “popular” in my eyes.
I wonder,
What do they have that I’m missing?
I see them laugh, and smile with their friends,
And wonder,
Do they care about me like this?
Is there something wrong with me?
Did I do something wrong?
How did things change so quickly?
Was it something I didn’t see?

Watching the ship burn to the waters.
The captain doesn't run away.
The ones that made me laugh,
The ones I missed over summer vacation.
Did they ever think of me?
The ones I never fitted in with,
Things never clicked.
I always felt awkward and out of place.
Am I just overthinking?
Did all this time mean anything at all?
Was it a waste,
Was it a loss?
Did we ever form a connection,
Or was it just superstition?

My mother told me that throughout high school,
She didn’t really have any friends at all.
I don’t know how she made it,
If it was me,
I know I wouldn’t.
I would feel too alone.
Though looking at it,
Perhaps I’m in the same boat.

I remember a friend I had back in first grade.
The thing that makes him so memorable to me,
Is the fact that he would lie to my face,
So effortlessly,
And I partly believed,
Thank goodness he left by second grade.

If you’ve read “My Former Friend,”
You know about a relationship,
I relished when it ended.
It wasn’t a friendship,
But a parasitic relationship.
So much discontentment,
So much resentment.
The past is the past so it’s time to move past.
If there’s anything I learned of value,
Is that some people abuse for their own benefit,
A lesson I’d have to learn at some point.

I sense a sense of strain amongst my friends.
Things feel more awkward than they ever have before.
Two and a half more years to go.
Would I change some things, if I could do it all again?
Yes.
Could things be worse than what I’m currently experiencing?
Yes.
Does that make it any easier?
No.

It’s hard watching a good thing come to an end,
Especially when it was a large fraction of your childhood.
But naivete is gone,
I’ll see it like it is,
Whether I like it or not,
It’s a sinking ship.
I’ll enjoy what time I have left,
And ride it out till the end.

A friend shouldn’t run away,
And leave you behind,
Without a warning,
Or something to clear your mind.
Just tell me that we’re done,
That you’ve moved on,
So I can move on.

Here we are,
2025.
Feels weird to say,
But it’s here to stay.
Looking at the bigger picture,
I see,
That I don’t think a single person gets me.
Perhaps, I set my expectations too high,
Perhaps frivolous tomfoolery is the norm.
I’m more of the “get things done” kind of guy.
Perhaps, I’m too hard to get to know,
Perhaps, the journey’s not worth the reward.
All people see is a character that’s mundane,
Yet hidden in the pages,
Is a creative brain,
That, to most people,
Won’t see the light of day.
I think there’s one,
Maybe two,
That’s it.
The rest I’m not sure about,
They have their friends, who occupy their time.
Yet, it’s not that I don’t want to know them,
It’s that I’m scared,
To be rejected,
In the gutter.
So, like my mother did,
All those years ago,
I’ll sit back,
And watch the world turn,
On my own.
And wonder,
If out there,
Somewhere,
There’s people who’ll care for me,
The way I wish they would.
According to probability,
It’s nearly a statistical certainty.

A friend should make you feel heard,
And loved.
So that you don’t have to write a long poem,
About what you long for.

I’ve got a few more things to say,
More thoughts have fluttered into my brain,
And even if it may be slightly trite,
I’m going to give you another piece of my mind.

How I adore the sound of rain.
Pitter-patter,
On my window at night.
However, when the rain gets on me,
I become the Wicked Witch of The West,
And start to melt.
The rain relaxes me,
Puts my ever-sprinting mind at ease.
Snuggled underneath the covers,
In my comfy bed,
Shows that even on the stormy nights,
There’s something to be thankful for.

My music taste has evolved,
As most everything else has,
I guess it was inevitable,
To broaden my horizons.
I was raised on Reba,
My mother made sure of that.
I’ll give credit where it’s due,
She’s a stunning singer,
And her songs touch the heart,
But I’ve found another,
Who, for me,
Fans the same spark.
His name is Alec Benjamin,
I’ve quoted his song in a poem once before,
Rarely can you find a musician,
Where every song you adore.
I haven’t heard every piece of art he’s created,
But from what I’ve heard,
They’re very relatable, meaningful songs,
Which are filled with impactful words.
He’s an amazing lyricist,
Who, to my knowledge, writes all his own songs,
Here’s a sample,
From a track titled “Hipocrite,”
Yes, titled just like that.

“It's hip to be a hipocrite, well, that's how it goes
Saying and portraying things, but only for show
They talk, throw rocks
Living in a mansion that they made out of glass
Always throwing tantrums, always getting a pass
All talk, they don't stop.”
And here’s the chorus:
“All these pompous fools,
With their broken rules,
And their noses in the air,
Keep pretending that they care.
All these stubborn mules,
Went to fancy schools,
But the only thing they learned to do is talk.”

Some of the music I like,
Doesn’t even have any lyrics at all.
Just a light somber melody,
To take me to serenity.
It’s in those moments,
Where my mind is clear,
That I treasure,
All I hold dear.

As much as I fear the future,
And which direction, of the countless, it could go.
I’d be lying if I said,
I wasn’t curious to see where it goes.
Where I’ll be,
Ten,
Twenty,
Thirty years from now,
Nobody knows.
On the bucket list,
Is to be invited onto a talk show.
Fate is uncertain,
That’s precisely why I fear it,
Yet, there’s a beauty to the undetermined.
Funny how that is.

I’m very impatient,
That’s a negative trait I’ll admit,
However, I understand,
That patience has its benefits.
Impulsivity leads to mistakes,
While patience leads to mastery.
Patience leads to understanding,
While impetuousness leads to travesty.
Waiting makes me feel,
That fleeting time is wasting,
We don’t have forever,
And our presence is always fading.
Yet, breathing in and out,
And taking a moment to rest,
Reconfigure, reassess,
Is the best form of reconciliation,
The body can get.

Another poem written,
A set of words said.
Another view of the world,
Hidden in my head.
Another random word,
To help me rhyme.
Another,
Piece of my mind.

One sunny summer day.
In the middle of summer break.
A boy was pleasantly surprised to find,
A cat in his backyard.

The cat was frantic at first,
It hid under a vintage, rusted old car,
The boy’s father’s dream lying to waste.
But after some bribery, clean water, and pets,
The cat had gained a new friend.

The cat decided then that it would stick around,
So it was bound and determined to stay relevant.
The boy would take the cat on his nature walks,
Throughout the forest that sprawled all across the backyard.
The cat was loyal, it followed his every step,
And it never resisted when he reached down to pet it.
The purring helped put the boy’s mind at ease,
Something he desperately needed.
It distracted him,
From the pain in his heart.

You see his family of three,
Used to be of four,
But after five long happy years,
Fate came to settle the score.
The family had just begun to settle into their new normal,
When the cat came into their lives,
It was as if fate was apologizing for the way it treated them,
Or maybe that was a self-aware lie.

The cat and the boy bonded like siblings,
The boy would tell the cat what was on his mind,
It was so vivid he nearly tricked himself into believing,
That his late little brother was alive.
A few months later, school began,
And every day the boy would bid the cat farewell.
But something stirred within the cat,
Something told it that things weren’t “well”.

The boy was starting high school,
The weight of the world slowly pressed onto his back.
He never truly comprehended the full magnitude of the situation,
Till it was too late to go back.

The boy was bright amidst a flurry of distorted lights,
It was a shame that he was quiet.
So many ideas he had were laid to waste inside his mind,
Because he was afraid of being wrong instead of right.
But the boy had a major problem,
He was feeling overwhelmed.
His pain was boiling to a head,
And no one was there to comfort him.
How could they understand?
People were siphoning the joy from his life,
The glee he once shared with his brother and then the cat,
It all came to a close one winter night,
When the straw broke the camel’s back…

The cat saw a van covered in flashy lights,
It saw the boy being taken on a metal bed.
As the van sped away, and the boy’s parents followed,
The cat noticed the sky becoming gray.

Hours later, the parents returned,
But to the cat’s dismay,
Only two pairs of feet got out of the car,
As all the pieces fell into place.
And as the thunder boomed,
And the rain poured,
And the parents began to cry,
The cat finally realized:
That the boy had died.

The whole world started to mourn,
Because they knew they had lost a radiant light,
It would be a hard few days,
But nothing compared to that night.
The birds stopped singing,
The crickets stopped chirping,
The dogs stopped barking,
Even the predators stopped hunting,
The world stood still in succor,
Enigmatic bliss.

However in the wake of all the tragedy,
Something inconceivable occurred,
When the parents of the boy walked through their front door,
They left it open with intent.
The cat curiously meandered to the entrance,
As the parents motion for the cat to come in.
After all, the least that they could do was,
Give a home to a family friend…