A smile,
A breath,
A new chance,
Something to try,
A reason to try,
There are many,
They might seem stupid,
They might seem small,
They may not seem to be worth it,
Know that they are worth it.

A fight,
Inside a mind,
A never-ending battle cry,
It rings inside a head,
Sometimes soft,
Sometimes loud,
But it’s always filled with dread,
Dread to keep fighting,
Dread to accept the reasons,
The reasons to try.

If you never try,
You may never lose,
But you’ll also never win.

Mom and Dad,
Siblings,
Family,
Love,
Safety and some place to go to,
Things most have.

Happiness is safety,
Like a place to go home to,
During a war there is no home,
No safety,
Not even love.


Sometimes this war is depression,
A long battle,
Difficult to overcome in its entirety,
Like every war,
Depression is something you can’t fight on your own,

Some things in the war remind you of what it was like,
What it was like before the war,
They give moments of clarity,
They show you what you’re fighting for.

These things can be simple as a smile,
A goodbye,
A compliment,
Or as important as,
A long meaningful talk,
A good hug.

When you receive these,
The battle is easier to fight for a moment,
So please give it to others,
Share the clarity,
Win a war.

I re all-ized,
steps still count

You run, when you can.

It is the thought, reason being,

you remember running when you could, but

if you never
did

really,
run like a river,
or the wind,

you can only imagine, and that
is just
and fair.

imagine you knew a persona or
knew an I de ift to the point

of being famous for being so
edgy
about in or un fine it or ite in or e volving

valves, like
vacuum tubes, an
cient sparks tamed in qualesecs to the parsecteth

spec of time/space minus friction

non sense.

sophia her self speaks from shadows in riddles,

and every man, wombed, wounded, or un
every one kisses the sun
with that first

"this is the end of what began forever ago"
then "nope"
and only common sense is left the child

see smell touch taste test hear test touch test

bad good, good was first, but we never notice

we newborn bearers of light's burden.

Who, pray tell, who im magied, mal-praxiologically,
lucifer a name for the accuser?

the shining thing and the bearer of the light that may light
all lamps touched by it,

candles on a cake? means nada, right?

this
little light, of mine,
I'm gonna let it shine.
Ain't agonna let no lie put it out,

I'm gonna let it shine, y'know?
No?
Taste, see, good. Prove me. Try. Same as doing,
if you did it in your heart,
if you imagined, did you
do or try?

Do or die, the old warrior who mocks the liar,
whispers, look'em in the eye. He winks.

A real win
is getting out more than you put in.
So, why do I go on and on looking for a return?
It seems I’ll never learn
that winning is endless
and makes a fool of us all.

My quill is, simply put, – a magic tool:
It plays on winds and rhymes, on evening-mornings,
On sonnets and sonatas, never boringly;
The summer-winters, sunny moons fulfill its orders,
This verse – a pass to stars and heavens, too…

A pass to feel the spirit of adventure;
Into the theatre of storms and passions, dreams –
Where you’re the playwright and the actor, you’re free
To breathe the air of rhymes and beauty, reel
And hear a voice so young, enthralling, ancient…

My quill knows no choice, except to win –
It’s blessed by Shakespeare, Puskhin, many others;
And long ago, in ancient Greece, or maybe farther –
Apollo told me: “We are destined yet to father
A magic tome of futures, so whimsical…

And so we cooked the nectar: chords of lyre,
And Aphrodite’s smiling, thrilling eyes,
Some truthful flattery and magic in disguise –
It had no equal – healthy! – no lies.
The stars fell down for luck, the drink – so clear.

Each master and each maestro came to see –
From all the centuries and lands, and all the nations.
The wizard Merlin worked his fanciful equations,
And Cicero would speak – to melt the glaciers.
Became my palette – Earth, and skies, and seas…

Each poet, philosopher, composer, pretty muse
All nymphs and heroes, and grandmasters who came,
Inspired the drink with their talents, skills and aims,
So rose art to heights of starry fame,
And Mr. Orpheus and Lennon sang their music.

My quill has no choice, except to win:
It holds the kiss and smile of every beauty,
It lives those dreams of other artists – futile
And never made to be by their music;
To carry forth and make them true was their will.

What is this nectar? – All the legends, all the whims
And genius of masters through the ages.
We dipped my soul and quill – I dare wager
That after drinking such a mead, there’s no danger:
My pages will withstand the harshest winds.

And so they kissed the poet and the quill
To bid me luck through all the future ventures –
These charming dames of all the legends, ages;
My heart was calm but quick; serene, but raging
Before creating Universes-quilts…

My quill, it shines with festive lights and stars,
It writes and rhymes with spirit – joyful, ringing.
So what if someone angers, spouts, cringes?
So? – Winter rages when the spring is springing.
I am afraid we’re in the future – speed of flight.

So, drink the rhymes and verses, breathe the scent.
The planet spins anew, without the mires;
The violets will bloom, to be admired,
And tales are true – of mermaids, love and fire.
So go on and read, my message sent!

Now Earth will spin a little quicker, calmer,
Our world will turn a legend, true and rhyming,
Where bombs will hardly soar – only gryphons,
Where marriages and fruit will ever ripen
And never rot, where dreams are bound to come.

My quill has no choice, except to win.
It’s young and old, instant and eternal,
It’s flippant, ethical, and magical, and ornery.
Remember? – Blessed by every artist’s orders.
It’s meant to father worlds, and so will…