He sits alone and in silence
Atop the silver birch
High above the forest floor

Watching with attentive eyes
As moonlight flirts playfully,
Shadow dancing among the many
Silver branches

At the heart of the forest,
The brook chatters endlessly
Of adventures through mountains
So high their peaks are lost in
****** clouds, of underground
Rivers raging unseen beneath
Valleys filled with first
Spring lilies

The weary critters gather
To lap at cool waters,
Ignoring the incessant babble
As they keep a wary eye
On lurking shadows

High above, his sharp eyes
Glimpse outlines in the darkness,
Hidden shapes imitating bush
And fern, almost motionless
Yet moving

He utters a single sound,
A whisper barely audible
Above the ceaseless chatter
Of the brook

The hunters arrive and
Sniff the air, traces of
Prey still lingering,
But the trail grows cold

The brook continues to regale
The night air with tales

Seemingly unaware
They are no longer listening

Seemingly unaware
They never were

Everyone may look down
But i promise you
You will conquer
You will destroy
You will achieve
But most importantly
You will
Prove them wrong

The wise
Follows wisdom
A silent path

(A response poem to Neil Aranda's "Weeds")

I was once a plant, a kind of my own
Oh, a plant that was not eagerly sown
And from that infertile soil, I have grown
Like a **** in wilderness, just unknown.

My ancestors treat me like I'm nothing
Nobody cares if I have done something
But still I don't want to stop believing
Persist to live through hoping and dreaming.

And then they call me as a wild flower
Condemn me like I'm a serial killer
They provoke each other as believer
Each one must be an active decrier.

But one day, my kind will be recognized
As that one good plant, a kind which is nice
From this barren land, I promise, I'll rise
And I'll be that strong, one day I'll be wise...

Do you also wince at the seeds of a watermelon
crawling there inside your mouth?
Do you also feel the bile inside begin swelling?
No way now it won't come out.

I eat only the ripest from the market
yet am forced to spit out with haste.
All the maggots and vermin seem to target
just the fruit I yearn to taste.

Life is a malicious prankster
and whatever grows are her tools.
If you're handed lemons, don't thank her-
for the only ones who take it are fools.

Be Brave and Be Outspoken,

Be Beautiful and Be Wise,

Be Stubborn and Be Heroic,

Be Rebellious and Be Crazy,

Be Strong and Be Kind,

because at the end of the day,

when all is said and done,

you will have no regrets.