this old poet, one of the first, to see your wave,
when he was playing knick-knack paddy whack on his shoe,
the old poet then played two, and said,
yes, I will follow you

Please
imaging-imaging that old poet with a glanceable cursory,
a small smile whispered, with entourage of a nod and a wink,
stands, knowing he is in the delivery room, a witness,
to first steps of a babe starting a new life
marvelous miracle by touching a button, a new line written,
not crossed but connecting by pressing "Follow"
with a finger from a hand, a human fringe,
attached to a breathing mind and a thinking heart,
the first to follow you, a ceremonial gesture of
innovation magic incantation, a new moon blessing,
a living person believing, remembering, the longest ago,
his first own graceful acknowledgement and eyes speak,

yes, I will follow you

the new poet, astonished at this induction to the smallest
Hall of Fame that they alone own the only key, study that
number, that number 1, the first to follow, kinda looking over
their shoulder to make sure the old poet still there on the morrow,
sure enough there are now two, safe in the back pocket,
a tabulation of humans who speak volumes of trust, saying,
yes, I will follow you

the old poet, imaging-imaging the babe, dancing round
the room, invigorated, challenged and the faucets pouring,
can't write it down as fast as the trains arriving disgorging,
words unique in new combinations and the rush of blood
from heart to head to those newly literary fingers bleeding
happy creatures of creation as if they are Noah
setting sail to save us with verbs and adjectives
two by two all for now species unheard of

the old poet wants to send cautionary notes, the path strewn
with frustrations of no inspiration ditches and inescapable cliches
that sound fresh but just aren't, the disappearing satisfaction,
the inability to get it just perfect, and so many obstacles
to be prophesied,
but he does not, these things must be self taught,
today let it suffice the initiation, the first crowning of
**yes, I will follow you
for this the way of the poet

10/16/17 5:09pm

Poetry,
Started out as a hobby,
Encouraged by family,
Write on topics variety,
Started with topics like,
Sleep,dream,summer,music,my bike,
I realised what gives my poems emotions,
I write about my life,
About love,
About death,
About happiness,
And sadnesses,
Later did I realise,
Poetry,
Went from a hobby,
To a therapy.

And
      In
         That
               Moment
                            She
                                  Was
                          ­              Consumed
                                                       And
                                              There
            ­                           Was
                           Nothing
                  More
                I
      Could
Do

The girl in the hallway,
You always assume she's alright,
Hides her face in the pillows,
She cries herself to sleep at night;

The boy on the track team,
He just won the team race,
You assume he's obviously happy,
But he wears a fake smile on his face;

You come home to see your sister,
Slipping away to her bedroom,
Doesn't speak a word,
You assume she is tired from the day,
Only little do you know,
Her twelve-year old self downs a hand-full of pills to take the pain away;

Torment surrounds you although you are unaware,
Chaos and rage flood through the streets,
Yet no one speaks up to seek prayer;

Your own family fell to infinite pieces,
When you believed your dad was just asleep;
Not knowing a part of him was sick deep inside,
Every night he went out to get high,
Seeking to escape his real life,
How would you ever know,
All you ever knew were his pretty white lies,
You always pictured him a happy man,
His hurt was exposed shortly after he died;

The world holds many secrets,
Most of which none want to know,
In a world full of lies,
How will you ever hear someone's true cries?
In a world full of lies,
Holds pounds of pain upon pain,
Holding you captive to death with nothing to gain.
In a world full of lies,
Mistrust becomes common,
Yet no ones cares to change the problem

Stuck in this with only ourselves to blame,
Revolving continuously in a world of lies,
People search for death to ease their pain,
No sprout of life comes from living this way

Look around and notice the need,
Silent screams for revival roar with plead,
Learn to extend a hand, or two;
You never know what a little kindness can do.

You could change tear drops to warm hearts,
Then watch deaths transform into new life;
The work of true love restores truth to the world,
For the world full of lies finally has no place to take hold.