The ocean blueness—fades further into the deep
A naked eye—in the needle hole,
threading old skins of past; to sew away
The present self being a stowaway.

Sheds of tears—falling from time to time
The grounds washed—drenched in eroding thought,
as the tears of an experience's memory
I've experienced so many things.

Beauty that is glorious—beauty my eyes attestor to
So seen is life—tasting all bitter sweet,
heeding the stories; touched by them all
Scented by intentions: to vocalize beauty we'd recall.

Swivel politeness—coupled by lessons from progenitor
Wisdom must be kept—holding immense value,
spoken in tongue; lips impart to succesor
Should it flow naturally in life: to your success sir.

Give me the sea and I'll drink it
all of it
Give me the sky and I'll blot it out
cut it out
leave the gaping earth barren of its liquid dressing
and leave the sky naked of its blue face
there is no compare
that is
not to say you are not enough for me
not at all
it is to say you are more than I could have desired
more
than I could have dreamed
and I do not tire of you
not in my darkest moments
when I'm stretched thin
and there is no longer
a devil-may-care draped about my addled mind
when my patience snaps
when my jaw clamps
my eyes droop
my brain thumps against my skull
not even then
with the last vestiges of civility held in grasp
not even then can I think to lash out at you
not even when you poke
or ****
plod about my sensibilities
maim my sensitivities
not even then
not even when you roll your eyes
give me that long 'hmmmm - really...'
I don't give in to the nagging,
nigh satisfying itch to shake with rage
and curse everything that stems from the womb
I am cool as a cucumber
placid as a windless lake
I roll my shoulders
flutter my eyelashes
look you up and down
say,
'My... my... tired aren't you?'
Your shoulders slump
Your efforts to topple me abate
You nod your head
curl up on my lap
isn't it
funny
how comforted we become
when we are offered solace
in exchange for an argument
that neither of us
would win?

earthquakes, heart breaks, slow like a turtle
trying to birth my new era but i am not fertile
all in divine timing i guess
what is holding me back, my stress, my ex, is my best not good enough
what is holding back my blessings, my lessons, is it that my heart is scuffed
what do i even want, been way too long
since i asked myself to be honest, everything has been a performance
who would i be if i was fearless
what would i be like if i was endearing
wonder what the core essence of me is, my scent riding the breezes
people are recognizing me, my anxiety recognizes me
a recipe for brain-fog, get up for a morning jog
to sweat out all of my venom, to restart my system
cultivate and reinstate my Wisdom

I'd tell my child;
"why would you want to be like me,
when I've raised you well to be even better,
Are we not gods; created by the greater God,
as greatest is what we are. You'd seek perfection,
but being a better version of yesterday self,
is what you'll find"

I'd tell my child;
"promise me you won't fight as long, to become
the ones we've fought against. There are no true
successors to war; if the Dead are the only to know
it's end. I'd best fight those battles long before you do.

I'd tell my child;
"the world will beat you up, long before you
learn how to fight. A lover seems weak in their
eyes, but they're just weaker to love"

I'd tell my child;
"no effort is worth the effort without it's due.
Working yourself to death for another's livelihood,
seems like the slavery of old in modern times"

I'd tell you child many things, but still there are
many things I'm yet to learn and discover.  
As much as I can teach, I learn a lot from you.
I only became a father, after I became a father to you.

Fantasy dream; caught in the between of reality
caught in these nets of generation’s imagination.
Desiring self *** appeal,—only the ones who’ve got
the guns for creation. Violence runs the streets;
a marathon of the fatherless kids brought into the world.
Tell them not to be bent out of shape if you dare, but
any blow of the wind causes them to fold.

Tender kisses of mama; spoiled a child:
Rotten as blackened teeth holes of the sweetest treats,
a long while since a tame domesticated the wild.
This child! Has only witnessed domestic violence all
of their life. Stepped on stepfather; beating the daylights
out of them every night.

Seeking approval; where the approved are only the kids
who break the rules. “There goes the youth,“
they’d often say. Unknowingly the same band of troubled
young mother’s go on their knees each night to pray.

But you’ll just bat an eye away from them;
ignore a present problem, still looking to a future’s gain.
Or take advantage of a youngster, then claim
their misconduct being only by an upbringing
as to blame. Where are the men?

To show a son how to love and respect,
a daughter a hand of gentle protection,
Teaching lessons of wisdom never to forget,
not of their words becoming a weapon.
To not settle for less when there’s always a best,
don’t let the shortest sad times become a deep long depression.

In the end what will our future be;
if we’re not being the future we’ll leave for
our young to follow,
Don’t glance at it with wallow,
build yourself strong,—build that strong
tomorrow.

The temporal beauty which fades and falls,
vigor of body that to vale gives way—
dissolutions of bloom—have much to say,
as life’s costly sermon achingly calls:
“Put not your heart’s hope in gifts eyes now see
nor set store by charms easily broken.
Vibrant buds o’er which praises are spoken,
erstwhile by Fall, forgotten shall be.
But in Christ waits sure glory eternal
and by loss here that beauty there’s gaining
its resplendent weight, e’en now attaining
through Jesus intimate gem troves internal.”
God’s wisdom turns decay and frailty’s gruel
into a Homeward driving kind of fuel.

Wise person says,
You can't buy happiness
Without learning that something
Always gets lost upon
The return to reality.

By the stream, they sang
as the waters of life flowed
and what grew by the waters?

I ask myself this question daily.
Rancid gutters, stench of rotting responsibility
passing problems forward
generation by generation
until the backs of our grandchildren
snap under the weight.

Just look at us now
buckling
faltering
searching for truth for healing for salvation
like every generation before
and I must ask myself
where are the waters of life
and what songs would I sing were I to drink them?

I believe it in my heart
that our song would be every moment
a chorus of peace
a chorus of love
looking into each other's eyes
no hint of displeasure or bitterness
haunting memories looming no more
forgiveness a currency of champions, we
and I cannot shake the mirth of it
almost oppressive - the laughter
I drown in it
aching at the sides
at first wondering, "What's in this water?!"
Then making it my daily drink - liquor forgotten
My daily bread the love of those around
and my gift to them the same.

Such a dream.
Lying back, sorrow at the sheer distance of that vision,
I stare into the ceiling
watching the cobwebs flutter
the waning daylight calls me to rest my eyes
bury my day's burdens
give control over to the weightless, mindless veil of sleep...
yet I lay awake all night
fearing sleep
because the beauty of that dream still clung to my soul
and should I have slept
the dream would die
and my grandchildren would have nothing
but this crumbling world we're building
while they'd wonder if I ever dreamt.

They'd wonder if I were ever free.

I did dream. I did hope to be free.
I will make this dream a reality.
I will find the waters of life.
I will share it with you.
Even if it were just a drop,
it would be ours.
You, me, and everyone,
for a drop of life is worth worlds of love.