War kills
not just bodies
but souls
while in its wake
leaving hearts emptied
with holes

The spirit of men
ruined by trauma
it's clear
they look to tomorrow
and tremble
from fear

For what it will bring
these men
never know
often like Jekyll
and Hyde
which one will now show

War
is pure hell
for all that it touches
and there's no hiding it
with a million
airbrushes

Beauty is a strange thing,
We search and beg
Through airbrushes and lies
Trying to be an impossible beautiful
That doesn't exist.

That doesn't stop the
disappointed tears that roll down his
plump cheeks and second chin
that makes him somehow less
Worthy than a model with one.

That doesn't stop the girl
whose reflection deceives her
down to skin and bone
because that is what is beautiful,
What is attractive,

But stop, please stop,
Beauty is the smile that lights up your eyes,
Beauty is the way you helped him,
Beauty is your expression through art,
Your encouragement,
Your humour,
Your strong mind,
Your good heart,

Beauty is you.

I am the sheep that leads the shepherd,
not that the shepherd would ever lead me.
For you see,
good things don't come in threes,
they come in ones.
One bee.
A forest with one tree
One snake that made Eve flee.

I am the thunder that frightens the child,
scaring even those who are wild.
For you see,
butterflies don't fly,
they soar,
wings causing waves,
so strong,
it disrupts even the planet's core.

I am the pen that writes the tales,
a myth,
a legend,
attempts to amaze never fail.
For you see,
It is the writer that feels,
and the reader that touches.
My stories,
live,
not messed by airbrushes.

Thinking about the dinner sleep, and milk
Bread and the tea, and some fatless skimmed milk
Some grocery lists that have no dough as flour
Or as a flower as dowry
As the blue weather, spills like the fall of the hokes and lores
Of the Hokkaido's that implore
Of the tresses of the crime, the airbrushes of the breaths
The swords live within the cuts of the picture
Mixing with the texture of the freeway, we can beat the traffic

See your face in standing water
it reflects back the truth

No airbrushes in nature
no photoshop filters
you get what you get

Staring into the clear and glassy depths, right to the bottom
You think you can see through it, but really it sees through you!

of Juniper berries
with hair flaxen and lips
of cherries turn from emerald
green to purple-black. But once

they turn they do not go
back. Swollen lil' violet orbs wish to
be the next in Forbes. Sharp and clear
with tongue to bite, like aged gin

leave you ****** at night. Hanging
on tailored trees, the fertile seeds
spread as autumn leaves. Food for
the waxwings and thrushes. The painter

airbrushes it on fences and lawns
from dusk till dawn. All are drawn
to the splendor, the sailor's call
the weaker gender!