I sit perched
Not perched but perfectly placed
By the door in english classroom
In the english hallway
Four doors down from the end

The air here is warm
Though this morning it must have been below
Below the freezing point for water
And my engine

And from my perfectly placed seat
I can see
The yellow leaves
Warm against the approaching winters wind

Though it is only September

The classroom- full of life
But only in the sense that
A dozen kids sit taking a quiz
Worth nothing but a number in a book

The life makes it warm
Or is it the fans above
Man made just not by man
No, not man but a fan and a shadow of man

When the yellow leaves echo the cold
When the door closes
And the light
Fades with the warmth

I long to be silent in silence,
so that a magnolia tree may bloom in my mind,
warmed by the hands of God.

You pick on me Always
You put me on Spot for no reason
You are the biggest Critic I ever had
You read between my lines
You are friends with mine
You could easily know what I did
You pick fight with me, cat fights

After all these
You makes me my favourites, right after the fight
You had all my things covered, even if we are not taking
being miles apart... you reached out, when am down
You could do things that you are not fond of,  just for me
You are never tired for me!
I feel an embrace of warmth, from your words
Your hugs means world to me!
I will never want to miss that

I wish to cherish that for ever
I love you Mother!

I have gotten to the place
where I hate most everything
Except for the deep, raw truth

      of true brokenness.

The love that I  feel
for those  left so alone
undoes the twist of my hatred,

Bringing a warmth  that
keeps me alive, in my deep longing
to be with beautiful spirits,

                       kindred.

The moon caught fire,
the warmth slowly seeping
deep into my awry, hollow veins.

But the only thing that could quench
it's ember-lit flames,
was my lovesick yearning
for you.

I speak not of the sun neither speak to her for the winter it has left in my care. My conversations with the cold snap and the polar vortex had gone stale.

The sun and I had our falling out and if these words should find their way to her doorstep, let her know I don’t miss her warmth. I don’t leap out of the bed to tug the curtain and let her silver light fill my room and let the motes dance in her rays like I used to.

I shudder at her supple shadow swirling, flowing and flitting about, and the halo she wears petrifies me. Her pestilential disposition burns through my walls fortified with years of heartaches. For these, we must part ways.