Not one the same,
But all as one—
Different paths,
Same rising sun.

Thinking thoughts
That feel aligned,
Needs not one,
But all combined.

We eat to live,
We sleep to dream,
Our voices clash,
Yet still, we scream.

A cry is heard,
A hand extends,
The hurt we feel—
The heart that mends.

We rise, we fall,
We learn, we grow,
In separate soils,
But roots still show.

And in the end,
We all return—
Ash to ash,
And urn to urn.

Not one the same,
But all the same.
We bear one name:
Human.

Hey—
Look up. Be still.
Life won’t wait and time won’t chill.
It moves with or without your glance,
So don’t just scroll—give now a chance.

Being present ain’t just “being there,”
It’s showing up with eyes that care.
It’s hearing meaning past the sound,
And feeling what’s beneath the ground.

It’s catching more than just the loud—
It’s reading silence in the crowd.
It’s not just nodding to pretend,
It’s listening like you’re with a friend.

Don’t wait to speak—
just wait and hear.
You’ll see the world become more clear.

‘Cause moments fade and chances fly,
And you’ll miss life just blinking by.

So don’t drift off or disappear—
You’ve got a mind, you’ve got an ear.
You’re not just watching—
you’re the scene.
Be part of life, not just the screen.

Be here.
Be now.
Be wide and true.
Be present—
The world is waiting for you.

Our world runs on hard work
The sacrifice of self,
With no regard for safety,
Dropped into the Earth to mine coal.

Generations of miners
Uncles, fathers, grandfathers
Rose from the mines,
Their skin darkened by dust, not sun.

But who will take their place?
As generations tire,
The work remains,
Yet no one volunteers to fall deep into the Earth.

Have we denied ourselves a workforce
By coddling the young?
They sit in gaming chairs,
Lost in fantasy, where reality is not.

Unwilling to do the work of their fathers,
They’ve seen the pain,
Heard the cough,
Watched lungs blacken with coal dust—
In a society that turned its back on them.

And would I take that chance?
I can’t blame them—
I understand where they stand… or sit.
They do not know the sacrifice of kin.

They are the Yeah, No Generation.

Scraped knuckles,
Flesh torn—
The work of shovels,
Then rake the thorns.

I scar the ground
Where roots are born,
Worms wiggle no sound
Giving life now reborn.

I picked stones in windrows,
No boundary before—
But laid them by hand,
Now they form the field’s shore.

My back now bent,
Like the *** in my hand,
I plan to seed—
Soon, corn will stand.

My skin now cracked,
Like sun-dried clay,
Hands gnarled and split
From each long day.

The sun carves lines
Across my face,
Like furrows dug—
A farmer’s grace.

My spine curves low,
Like the rows I’ve sown,
Each step I take
Feels carved from stone.

On bended knee,
With ***** I tear
This burnt earth—
I treat it with care.

Each wound I earn,
Each line I wear,
Marks the bond we share—
Me and the land laid bare.

The harvest feeds
What labor yields—
But worn hands must rest
Like fallowed fields.

Words chosen with care,
left behind like whispers—
scrawled in a quick hand,
on paper torn to look like a heart.

Held to the sun,
a love-shadow cast,
heart drawn in mustard
on a sandwich half-masked.

Steam on the mirror,
a whisper of grace,
uplifting words
for the start of your day.

Etched in the sand
before tides sweep by,
written in smoke,
love’s note in the sky.

Scraps of paper,
notes left everywhere,
have outlasted our love—
but still linger in air.

I never meant to be alone,
But life just carved that path in stone.
I’ve had some friends, or so I’d say—
But none of them would choose to stay.

I see the crowds with hearts so bright,
Their laughter glowing in the light.
They gather near the church each day,
To sing and praise, to bow and pray.

But even there, I felt no peace,
No calm, no joy, no soul’s release.
I slipped out quiet, walked away—
Still searching for a better way.

I talk to folks while on the grind,
A passing word, a glance, a kind.
But something in me makes them pause—
Like I don’t fit their world, their laws.

I thought I moved like all the rest,
But maybe I don’t pass the test.
A little odd, a bit astray—
Not built to walk their kind of way.

I wander now where silence sighs,
Beneath the stars and ghostly skies.
I hope a spirit sees my pain—
But all I feel is cold, like rain.

So loneliness becomes my friend,
A shadow that won’t break or bend.
No hand to hold, no voice to say—
“You’re not alone, come stay, just stay”

I was tasked to clean it up
but the mess?
It wasn’t mine.
I stepped right into your ****,
you led me,
right into it.

Now we both reek,
covered in the stink
of choices I didn’t make,
but still, I’m forced to sink.

You lit the fire,
I brought the hose,
but somehow I’m the one exposed.
You played the victim,
I played along,
now I’m left wondering
where I went wrong.

They point at me
the smell too strong
but they don’t know
who led me on.

You wiped your hands
while mine stayed stained,
you walked away,
and I remained.

Cleaning up
what you left behind,
still gagging
on the ties that bind.

So next time you’re looking
for someone to save
remember:
even heroes
get tired of graves.