For all who read (or any who care)
I may somehow give up writing but no one
Would be aware.
After dozens of failed poems-sitting all alone,
"This is it!" I say and promise I won't write again,
There is much writers block so at least I come
Up with something NEW now and then.
But who cares about that?
Instead, we'll read re-hashed garbage
And praise it like it's priceless.
People make me sick, because they're
A vain sort that bring new meaning to the word
*Foolishness.

If my house was a castle,
Then I would be the queen.
I'd gather all my subjects
And to them all, I'd sing.

I sing of all the wonder
I've seen in my life
And I'd try to explain
What's wrong and what's right.

But how do you show
Those who cannot see
And how do you help form
Those who know not what to be?

If I sing and you can't hear me
Is my song sung in vain,
Like a flower that drowns
In the midst of the rain?

I want to help you as you grow
Yet, I do not know what to do
But if my singing helps,
Then I will sing to you.

I don't have all the answers.
All I have is my song
So I'll sing to show I love you
So you know that you belong.

She stumbled across the streets,
with low light streams.
Casting a glimpse to the rustling leaves,
fearing a soul's hail,
for 'twould free her long-harbored wail.

Her white shroud floating back like a spectre unleashed,
her feeble hands holding tight to the shovel in need;
on she went digging, with all her strength beaming,
waiting not for a second to breathe.

A ditch no less than a bottomless pit,
was what she endeavored to achieve in the late night sleep
to abandon her setback grief.

Yearning to touch that which was unblemished
in features but on a pedestal of damnation it
lingered, there was aspiration to behold it on its
untenanted visage that was as blank as paper but
still felt the need to see beyond it nothingness.

Its limbs tried to expel there reach to this needed
vision of perfection. But were abstained by lingering
twines of discord always keeping those infatuations
at arms length. Below were imperfections that were
offered but neglected to the lower depths of its sight.

To obtain that which was desired but, through wilful
objection it could not tender it upon its self. reaching
ever more upon that which it wished to behold on its
needing but could not own. It will always reach for
the unattainable perfection that it seek just within reach.

Sit right down let me tell you what we serve
You might think it quite absurd
But we only have just one dish
And it might even be what you wish

But apathy is our only course
I hope that is your choice
It's very easy to prepare
And everybody can have their share
If you don't like it we don't care

Empathy use to be our greatest cuisine
It really was quite supreme
But serving it was such a pain
And to admit it we are all just to vain
It took to much time
And it didn't pay a dime
We had to layer in the flavors
Of truly caring, love, patience, and of course life savers

Who has time for all of that, not us
We don't need all the fuss
For we only care about our own
To care about strangers we're not prone
Your tears we care nothing about
So just sit over there and pout

For we only serve one thing here.......apathy
We are to self-absorbed for.......empathy