Don't let the dirt of despair
dull your shine, little diamond.
God's been good to you, too.  
Who said it was over?  
Who told you it'd always
be like this?
Who said you're a toxic person?
And how do they know?  
They don't.  
Shake those expectations.
Dance in the rain.
Shine in the dirt.
Do you, diamond.

Drowning in the white
waters of his own rage,
He stared a vacant
stare that could never
give light - only drink it
like a barren desert
growing desperate
for a few drops of rain.

That kind of stare can
only look inward
toward the stinging
and distorted
memories -
never peering out into
the suger-coated  
sub-reality (the
monotonous practice
of model living) -
his vision obscured by
the traumatic scenes
of a nightmarish movie
playing in repetition -
bearing down on his
consciousness and
becoming all the more
vivid and consequential.

The contrast of her
soft-spokenness seems
to mock him - and so
he rages..

We're, every one,
just as afraid as the other
Afraid of each other
The only brave souls
are those who confess it
and are least compromised.

Somewhere in the sands of time,
I hear a faint and faithful cry -
the song of a wingless bird
singin' "love will never die".
But where has he gone now?
That candle in a hurricane.
The bird singing in the storm -
wings beating against the rain.
And what will he become
when his soul no longer sings?
When he makes a nest of thorns
and fills it up with shiny things.
-
He can't say he'll sing tomorrow -
Tomorrow might never come
And the only awful song
is a song that is never sung.

The wild wonderland
of believed dreams with
good outcomes resting
in the minds of poor kids -
patted down like
little mud cakes and shaped in
old pans on culled lumber porches.

Who's ever gonna fix that rail?
No one.

Kids are busy baking cakes
and the older folks couldn't
care less..

Only those in the middle
are blinded by conformity
and set on edge by competition..

But, in this light, who couldn't surrender their darkness
of cold competition to the light and warmth of these lads?

Who wouldn't make way
for such a thing to happen?

Little lights of
hope that will only fade
into the sunset of adulthood
in due time...

But not today.

Not for them.

They have cakes to bake.

Remember me, Darlin',
on rainy days -
when boredom breeds
some restless state of mind..
I pray that, after you take
inventory of mindless tasks
and make another attempt
to recall some fresh memory
of your Old Man,
that you remember me,
even for just a moment -
dismissing my error
with a subtle smile
before whispering,
"****.. I hope he's alright."  

That's love..

That's love more than this is.

Nevermind your broken heart,
my dear -
He was never sent to care.
Just a passerby on winding road
with a destination not so clear.
A road so hazy you can't see your last step,
"Where will you go next?" -
the question of the hour.
"Anywhere but here",
she begged as she wiped away tears from a broken heart she should've just kept.
Kept far away from anyone to misuse,
She's broken again like a shattered mirror.
Thoughts of why she's never enough,
Why she always has to lose.

If this autumn moon
that gives such light
were the eye of He who
gave me sight,
then He would see
a sheep asleep
while children die
and mothers weep.  

And, if glimmering stars
were angel bands
that laid to waste
a wasteful man,
then I would pray
that they be blind
to those I've harmed
or left behind.

Stars don’t shine like they used to..
and these visions in my head are horrid..
and the voices are merciless
telling me it’s all my fault and
that I’ll never find real love.
Whatever that is.
But I’ve been here before.
Take care of yourself, darlin.

Just so you know, you left
my soul a little more broken...
my mind a little more
paranoid and untrusting..
lonely and confused.  
There’s no hope in my eyes
or hop in my step.
But I’ve been here before.  
Take care of yourself, darlin.

.. likes tearing people down
with loose talk and harsh words -
Empathy tossed aside
by the misuse of nouns and verbs.
.. a twisted view of society
just bound to be seen and heard -
Everyone, listen quietly
till every harsh word is slurred.
The Queen of the Night Life;
her brokenness - a crown.
Out-spokenness - a sword
that she just loves to swing around.
And me, I'm just a jester;
my struggle - a comedic scene,
but she’s justified by anger
only entitled to the royal queen.

Genuine like a child
Candid like an open book
Exotic like The Wild
Reassuring like a second look

Heart heavy and hard as stone
Swore she’d never be alone
Wore the stone around her neck
Made every man a nervous wreck

He left a letter on the dresser
addressed to whom it may concern.
It read "Never falter under pressure
before the tides can take their turn.
Everything is dying -
The likes of man and all his pleasure.
From paper planes we're flying
to the wooden chests of treasure.
But one Truth will always stand
long after the last word here is spoken:
There's always been a heavenly hand
to heal the heart that's broken."

He stumbled to the edge of town
and fell into the water’s rough -
held all his breath while going down
till there was none to come back up.

She had a
sailor's mouth,
pretty lips,
and lots of flaws
for me to fix.  

And she wore them
all in front of me
like a fur coat
with the collar up.

We swore we'd run it
till the wheels fell off
and when they did,
(because they always do)
we concluded that bad things
happen to good people.

But we were wrong
and justifiably so -
for who could stand against
the arrogance of youth?

And now that the enamel has
long been worn from our teeth
and vibrance faded like the
hues of our hair, we stand corrected:
For each renders his own suffering.
Some to bring us up..
Some to tear us down,
but it's all for the good of things.  

It was given by God that a man
should suffer for his own actions,
but not for demise, cynical observer,
but that he should learn and become.

What I wanted to say
remains confined inside
a bitter heart broken
by what could've been -
held captive by a mere
mention of the weather.

There was no good ending.
No "happily ever after".
No redemption in our story.
We were just a childish love
driven by infatuation.

What we called "love" was
carried away by the
butterflies in our bellies.
What we called our "future"
has faded with all the
pleasant memories of us-
And now it's like it never
happened.. it was all
fabricated and fantasized
like the words I wanted to say.

Worn-out photos lay
Scattered and without substance
Nagging memories
----
A half-hour till dawn
My wounded heart still bleeding
Stale remorse and tears

What a divided people -
like an eagle with wounded wings
lost in a consumer world
chasing shadows of silly things.
The downside of "prosperity"
and we're sliding down fast -
like every other puffed-up
political power in the past.
This is what it looks like to
have entirely too much -
ravaged in the heat of battle
with ghosts we can't see or touch..
Bathing in lavish luxury..
steeped to our necks with waste -
defending sinking sand castles and
casting stones through cyberspace.
The dawn of a new age and
everyone is entitled to an opinion.
Everybody and nobody's wrong,
and many words are ways of winning.
The implosion of a nation,
but it's all the government, right?
No need to blame consumers
fueling fires we claim to fight.
What a divided people -
like an eagle with wounded wings
lost in a consumer world
chasing shadows of worldly things.

Dodging peopled places
and their stabbing stares;
bleeding fear and self hatred-
no one seems to care..

I bite my lip a little more
in every public place
hoping I can make it out alive
before they see my face.
I wasn’t always self-aware-
at least, not to the extent
of holding ransom every word
until I validate intent..

Who are you?..
Have you lost your mind?
No one believes you anymore
when you say "I'll be fine."
Afraid of looking in the mirror;
I’m just not the man I know.
Somehow, it seems I’ve traded
faces with my fiercest foe.

Who are you?
Have you been here before?
Just a couple thousand times-
perhaps a thousand more..
I want to run away-  
just as fast as I can run
from everything I've known or felt -
the broken man I have become.

Where will you go?
What will you do?
You can run away from them,
but you can't run from you..

Dodging peopled places
and their stabbing stares;
bleeding fear and self-hatred-
no one seems to care..

With folded arms on my windowsill,
I gaze at a starlit sky so still.
Amidst the awe of wishful wonder,
A question, there, I pose and ponder:
If the autumn moon that gives such light
were the eye of He who gave me sight,
would He not see a sheep asleep
while children die and mother's weep?
And if glimmering stars were angel bands
that laid to waste a wasteful man,
would I not pray that they be blind
to those I've harmed or left behind?

With folded arms on my windowsill,
I saw a tree in the farmer's field
The winter winds had stripped the oak
And, as I believed, I thought and spoke:
If winter winds, in all their might,
lay bare the oaks and fold their height,
then gone would be the leaves of deeds
that hide my thoughts of lust and greed.
And if trees that grow and bear their fruit
were saints that live and speak the truth,
then I would be a withered tree
with bitter fruit and wilted leaves.

Gusts of warm wind blow
gracefully through oak branches
Distant thunder roars
-----
A busy boy turns
toward the darkening clouds
waiting for the rain

He staggered to
the med-line
and wept bitterly
from his soul
for the hope,
he feared, he'd
never find to fill
that gaping hole.
Somewhere in the
sands of time,
a boy plays at
his father's feet -
when happiness
didn't cost a dime
and he danced to
a different beat.
But that was
years ago -
the song had ended
much too fast.
He refused the meds,
walked real slow, and
cradled his playful past.

I waited for you -
down by the Woodbine
house on Kendrick Avenue.
I must've told myself 
a thousand times
that, when you arrive,
I'd be just fine -
sitting on the stoop
collecting thoughts
like puddles of rain.

Occassionally, a car
would pass, thrashing
through the puddles
slashed interrupting my
hopeful mind with violent
doubt...

I waited for you -
denying every reasonable
thought and holding on
to my childish dreams.

I'm still waiting for you -
Though hope has long
become desperate denial.

I'll wait for you..