"demonstrations" poems
When I enter,
the black holes of myself,
they are located,
transcribed upon the
blackboards of our
unified bodies,
the magnification of energy
transversed,
principles demonstrated
by the unconcluding
conclusion of the expansion of
creation,
the rebirthing of one universe
never ending
When I enter a woman,
the discovery sought,
the definitional needed,
the proofs equational,
the factors constant,
not the variable
truths,
the demonstrations positive,
the constants of the universe,
combinational, all within,
a single point glistening
to gentle comfort this
knowledge of my wasting,
the foresight of my limitations
from the day of birth
my matter,
matters,
my energy
neither destroyed or created,
illimitable,
my decline inevitable
and yet!
cannot alter my atomic structure.
my future guaranteed,
my inner light,
traveling so fast,
it has yet
to arrive
When I enter a woman,
the laws of physics
become special theories
of relativity,
we are motion in time,
force and energy
nucleotides rawest refined,
elemental and particle nuclear,
packets of light
exclaimed
When I enter a woman,
organic, chemistry,
interdisciplinary
my body and its life force
shaped as
electric current transceivers
crossing galaxies,
there can be no deceivers,
there but and only
the birthing of heat,
a byproduct of
interjection, conjunction
creation of creativity
<>
she is my proof
long after the
log normal of my nerves,
now parceled to the
invisible of an oscillating
log natural,
fertilizes the sea grasses
that so intoxicate,
flying, carried,
by the invisiblity of the winds,
all-where I have chosen
as my shifting shape,
when this container
leaks and crack'd,
in sentry reentry orbit,
to
the nearest garbage strewn
construction-dead
lot
When I enter a woman,
physics far beyond
the commonplace,
physical transition
to knowledge
of life ever after
death and fear are
time sensitized
passing notions,
crushed by the
consolation of physics,
the eternality
of a time
once begun,
cannot end,
and therefore
this,
my one theory of everything,
the God
I worship,
of course,
he is invisible!
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
How tenuous this grip we have, how slight our hold remains
When all around loud braggards boast that power now pertains,
We see the banner headlines splashed across our daily rags
And redneck demonstrations cleans the streets of Spics and ****
When blood runs in the gutter as the battons rise and fall
And whilst taking tea in style the filthy rich ignore it all.
The blonde leader of our nation struts, postulates and brags
While the rest of us skive off around the corner smoking ****
Our kids ingest confusion as they loiter on the street
Unknowing our delusions make illusions held, replete.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our hold remains
As our allies shower cold distrust convinced our fault inflames.
What chance of clear redemption, what remedies revive
When truth is lost to darkness can our honesty survive?
Reputation cut to shards, confidences ******
That leaders of community no longer hold our trust
When white is caste as black and then to green and then to grey
And sanity refuses pontification one more day.
How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our holds remain
As twilight turns to darkness caste against a larks’ refrain.
M.
The White House
HAMILTON, New Zealand
25 July 2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:36 AM UTC
I had a gf that used to get called a feminazi,
but no one ever called me a feminanarchist;
I think what we really were is Feminihilists.
FFP opposed ***********
defined as the sexualized degradation,
********** humiliation, objectification,
subjugation, violation, psychological
annihilation, exploitation, & violence
against women as distinguished from
erotica based on the mutuality
of power and pleasure.
According to FFP's pioneering founder Page Mellish,
*********** provides the training for ******
assault & **** results in the objectification
of women; affects women's ability to get equal rights
& equal pay, & encourages men to associate
*** with violence; Page ultimately claimed
that _all_ feminist issues | [ , ], [ ]
are rooted in ***********
& in a 1986 letter to the editor of The Wall Street Journal,
she asserted that FFP is "not against love & not against ***
Page held that all men or women
who did not fight against ***********
were accountable for the violence
against women, claiming that women
who enjoy *********** or rough ***
had internalized the male [gaze] & |
male definitions of power
Page's positions on ***********
have been debated outside FFP,
including with respect to porn's agency
on crime & feminist & gay definitions of ****
Legislation alone was not a solution,
according to Page; it was also necessary to remove _"the need for ****
vehemently anti-censorship & pro-sex,
Page taught me to show everything from
all sides; my other feminista professors
were pro-monogamy [patriarchy] while
Page was a combat boot wearing girly-girl;
she had these cute little doe-eyed Q's following
her around carrying the placards [ ] for her
spontaneous demonstrations against underwear
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
I'm clinging to hope
like I'm clinging
to hospital bed sheets.
Scared. frustrated. Tired.
Counting the naps,
beautiful demonstrations
of death.
Counting the kisses
pouring off your lips
like ballots on election day.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
I am a Fiddler on the Roof.
Someone like me is rare.
Daring enough to put my life on the line,
Make my presence known and there.
But I am a villager.
A mama nonetheless.
I get my hair pulled out,
My heart pulled out.
Then I have to clean the mess.
The Russians!
They torture us with
Pogroms and demonstrations.
The Constable their leader
In conquering many nations.
My soul is the Fiddler.
A simple sound happy on its own.
My love is whats keeping me on the roof.
I wants to grow and grow.
A villager and a Russian.
That is what I want, why I was sent.
Arm in arm with the Constable.
Happy to life´s end.
I can change things.
I am a Fiddler on the Roof.
Ready to change tradition!!!!
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:14 AM UTC
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut,
afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping
from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity,
about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’
left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas,
hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater
of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield
in your blog like you never didn’t know him.
I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have
when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber
Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there
to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth,
fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye,
bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms
of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter
and overheard profanity down El Camino Real.
I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox,
in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues.
You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer,
mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires.
Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me
about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression,
the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end,
alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic.
Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo,
I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab
in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song,
my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown.
But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring
Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells-
his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me.
Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato.
I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal
doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness
viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug,
a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
the first time i felt like a woman
the ends of my fingers polished, lashes crusted to the sky, and sticky gloss that glued my mouth shut,
cotton bullets on strings in cardboard casings and demonstrations of crushed
flower petals—feminine virtue
defined by the presence of a *****
the first time i felt like a woman
fingers curling around the rubber fetus in
my pocket, nine year old hand
pressed to my nine year old womb, as
my classmate’s mother, donning culottes
and the armor of God, issued
Psalm 139 bookmarks to the class
the first time i felt like a woman
the stain of Life, wine dark and blooming
across my blue Fruit of the Loom’s
during fifth grade band class, at home
my mother demanding to know why i didn’t tell her of my first period, she asks if
i am a compulsive liar and leaves the
Wal-Mart bag in my room, unaware she
bought me the wrong bra size
the first time i felt like a woman
my first love said “I’m not putting it away until you touch it” and i hear his voice
when i check for ankle slashers
under my car before i climb in
the first time i felt like a woman
in tenth grade the chapel speaker’s mouth saying “the most precious thing a woman can give to a man is her body” to a room full of teenagers, i wonder if
my future husband sits among us,
and if he wonders what i look like naked
the first time i felt like a Woman,
my girlhood had to die.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 4:27 PM UTC
Parading past in the emperor's robe,
I looked with wonder at the fool,
Left, right, right left,
Out of step.
I stood too close to the sewer cover,
A stench was in the air.
Behind and above on a balcony,
Leaning on wrought iron,
A woman's voice, drunk on demonstrations,
Called out, bouncing off balloons,
Never look a clenched fist in the mouth.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:01 AM UTC
In architecture the fourth pillar is so often considered the most important entity in supporting the ceilings, roofs & all such structures.
I thought a lot about my life and found out the four pillars in my life are so close and so very crucial to my life, each of them indispensable to my life.
First is my own learning;
As everything I've learnt comes to my aid in whichever fields of life that I venture to.
Second is my father's teaching;
As everything I've learnt comes ultimately through his teachings and demonstrations..
Third is my mother's pampering;
As everything I've learnt comes polished through her directions and suggestions...
Fourth is my lover's loving:
As everything I've learnt comes to her meaningful teaching or pampering....
Oh dear you complete the structure of my life as you are the crucial fourth pillar in my life.....
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
Default! Default! parties from the left cried!
But the people said no, they still had their pride
They viewed these parties with some skepticism,
and tackled the problem with true stoicism
There were no riots, no violent demonstrations,
as was evident in many other debt ridden nations
We simply put our heads down and got on with the task,
answering all of the questions the world had to ask
And now through our efforts things seem to have improved,
with a deal on the promissory note having just been approved
We still owe the money but we have more years to pay,
we can only hope our grandchildren will pay it off one day
There are green shoots of recovery, all is not lost
We learned a valuable lesson, though at a significant cost
We have done well though we cannot let down our guard
A sentiment echoed recently by one Christine Lagarde
We cannot get carried away with president Obama’s praise
For Enda Kenny on Paddy’s day, of all the days!
though lauded in Europe as a good example to everyone
we must not relax, there is a lot more to be done
But after all the cost cutting, redundancies, pay cuts,
all we get from Europe now is more ifs and buts
And I know this is wrong before I’ve even said it;
but for all of our hard work, would Europe not give us some credit?
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrations humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
I dont mean to be indifferent.
Its just that I dont care.
Not anymore anyway.
I couldnt care less
About your problems
Issues you have with your dad
Or other such demonstrations of
Your selfishness.
I dont want to talk about the weather
I'd rather just play with my food.
Maybe we can have *** in a while
That is, if I'm still in the mood.
So go ahead and talk through your martini.
Talk through me.
As if I'm really listening.
It would be rude to interrupt.
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
It was supposedly a birthday gift,
this long-legged razor's edge.
My brother must've seen me
watching it's live demonstrations.
Little did he know,
how skilled I thought myself to be.
The wrapping came off easily.
It was crudely shredded by a lesser blade
soon to be replaced.
Then the weapon itself glared at me
through the clear plastic window of its box.
Unsheathing it then, I felt its power come to me,
two steel legs spreading for a ****** murderer.
I probed it meticulously, the blade
caught the light and somehow swallowed it
before its appendage whirled across to conceal it.
This was a knife with thoughts.
Then I tried my first trick.
The blade danced elegantly,
and though I held on (for dear life)
it wanted to escape from my clutches.
I was caging it gracelessly between my fingers
and its first prerogative was to be free.
Still holding tight, it changed tactics,
a blood thirst radiating from within.
The next move would be my last.
For one split-second it escaped the probation of my palms,
somersaulting through the air above me.
It pointed downwards for a final coup de grâce.
I divorced myself from the weapon that day,
stitches adorned my bloodied hands
and the blade was taken as evidence,
though for what trial I never discovered.
My brother tossed it into the sea, I found,
legs still spiralling, blade still sharp.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 5:41 AM UTC
A every stumble, thoughts of you catch me every time
But at each trip, they poison my daydreams with long gone memories.
Hauntingly, they mimick my train of thought
I apologize every time
Those thoughts are not my own, my love
I am vulnerable against their every attack
Punishment for my choice not to join,
And not to fight
The ability to love, they lack
And their bitterness enhances in the presence of my love for you
So, my love, do not believe their jealous manipulation
Which takes more form each time I call to you
I swore to you my love
I gave myself to you
Look within me, the me, that I gave to you
Don't watch the movements of my mind, as it was never truly mine
Turn away from their evil illustrations
Exhibited to invoke doubt and suspicion
Look into your heart, my love,
Feel the miracle we created together
They did the same to me my love
Attacking all senses with visions of you and disguised mistresses
In the end it was all in vain
As my heart stayed true, and steered me back
So, my beloved, look into the truth you feel inside your heart
Within is our true love, shining still
And never look to the glowing darkness before your eyes
Projected on all you see, and surrounding you in your slumber
Remember the electricity we made the first time you took my hand in yours
That hand, that sensation, is me
Don't be fooled as they warm your hand in a firm grip
And say that grasp is mine
You know my touch, you know my love
Don't look for demonstrations of me
But feel for what you know
Remember, my true love
Love is blind.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
You think you are such a revolutionist.
So urban, so very
hipster
You think these people are you
are fascinated by the mindless babble
that is coming out of your
mouth-that you don't even seem to
understand.
You love to hear yourself talk,
and could carry on a conversation,
by yourself,
but you need the nonsensical nods
and approval of others.
You are really just an empty shell.
Through the demonstrations to explain
the complex things that only you
pretend to understand, you are really
just a pretentious *******
who is just as mainstream
as the rest of us because you are
sitting in Starbucks,
Wearing brand new Converse.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
Lofty aspirations
built on crumbling foundations
caused by faulty medications
filled with combinations
of complications
and expectations
from other generations
and fluctuations
of explanations
ignoring the implications
and frustrations
hallucinations and
interpretations
and the misrepresentations
of the ramifications
of your demonstrations
just to feel the sensations
the vibrations
of knowing you have no limitations
life is vacations
mixed with contemplations
of temptations
and on occasion
imagination
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:53 AM UTC
no demonstrations have been given, and we are falling through the flat lines. A comfort drive through overcast alleyways. complaints of brightened days and open shades. this pipe dream has carried us this far, and i am running faster than our imaginations. this has always been a set-up. a display. i bite my tongue for fear of flying. we hold hands because we're cold. these sentences don't form paragraphs. empty shells encased in gold. desperate vengeance against our bitter halves, assumptions of a frame of mind. Bodies trembling; lack of stimulation erasing those traces we left on that cold night....these cold nights now only taste bitter. From a solid to a liquid we've quickened our reaction time, with time to spare we are trading in spare parts, combined, we've aligned our shipwrecks. We face the south - we are the pessimistic creatures. We are the absent souls. traced bone structures and phantom feelings; genetic make up of uncompleted human beings. Puzzle pieces shaved with razor blades...we make them fit. we take what we want. inhaling expired fumes//exhaling narcissistic volumes. rise! we are everything in this world! we are a mess! Brakes don't exist, and the camera filter is permanently black and white. Jeans too tight, dreams too small. staring at the sunrise through lace and hearing the waves through a myriad of whispers. i am not accountable for my actions. i believe in nothing more and nothing less than gravity. scar tissue ties our binds, ribs entwined, born to die.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Hypothetical situations can cause pseudo-realizations
Sheer demonstrations of fantasies that fluctuate from the different poles.
Everyone in this skit is scrambling around trying to figure out their roles.
Reading "The Power of Now"
I'm being taught how,
To even further embrace the moment and be at peace.
Sometimes though,
Sometimes the movie in my head can make for a blissful release.
The trick is to bridge the self-inflicted anxiety gap,
To put your mind at ease.
Shut down it's power to conjure,
and find a stillness where the chatter retreats silently.
I've been blind to see the difference between what's real and fallacy before,
But now I'm closing my mind and opening my heart to find what's truly in store.
No score to be kept, with overwhelming success.
Doesn't matter creed, gender, or even your address.
Find solitude in the ever-expanding mansion that is the universe.
Our never-ending story is now, so there's no real need to rehearse.
Growing up I've always thought life was much better with how it is in dreams.
Still maturing, but I think I'm finally learning,
To just Be
Appreciate what is, and even what I can not yet perceive.
While not knowing can be more complex than it seems,
You can always trust, that there's beauty in a mystery
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
I've seen the work of the best minds
of previous generations scuttled and
passed by like garbage in a dumpster
the angel headed hispters
have gone the way of the dodo
their legacy nothing more than
some printed word and fading images
replaced, for a time
by the high energy punks
fighting the machinery that
keeps us enslaved to the grind
and the money that they own
and use against us
buy buy buy or you’re not
doing your part!
but alas
their legacy is nothing more
than safety pinned faces and scratched
records discarded in bargain bins
replaced, indefinitely by apathy;
global apathy
pockets of resistance remain,
but they are ground down,
shut down before their fire
can be seen
a new movement is needed
angry music, vitriolic poems
revolutionary diatribes
printed in meatspace,
where it affects real people
not as ones and zeros
in blue lcd glow
ignored as rantings of
crazy people;
demonstrations, pranks,
hoaxes, calling out the
powers that be to own up to
their actions and decisions
a pulling back of the curtain
to show the gears and cogs
that make it all work
but who shall lead this
revolution?
not I, I’ve got TV to watch
and things to buy,
and alcohol to numb all the rest
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
If I could transcribe behind your eyes,
I’d see the times they’ve sunk and cried,
The shadows of pain you’ve held inside,
And all the needs you’ve been denied.
You don't speak much on heartache,
Or insecurities you can’t shake,
Breaches of trust, being treated unjust,
Are there fears left concealed, undiscussed?
If I could dive inside your lovely mind,
Swim through your veins, us intertwined,
I’d find exactly how your heart perceives,
Study the language your love receives.
Maybe it's the 'I love you's throughout the day,
Or these poems, though limited in what I can say,
Even a warm meal after work on a cold day,
Or perhaps it's those weekends we spent away.
Mapping responses to our conversations
And how you react to my love demonstrations
I’m looking for clues, all sorts of indications,
Fine tuning the way I love with my observations.
I’ll narrow in, long as you continue to share
Your reception of love–please make me aware,
For, finding your love language is all that I care,
I’ll express my love, I solemnly swear!
Oct 11, 2024
Oct 11, 2024 at 10:42 PM UTC
We are the refused...
Barefoot in the marketplace
Born in the backseat
With minds erased
To hide dirt in the backstreets
And mud on the school steps
The fool in the textbook
Paints us inept
Tainted
******
Illicit natives
Miserable Misfits
Nothing the magistrates can't handle
OH!!!
They wish!
Suppress our melodies
But never break our lips
We are the misused...
Our eyes do penetrate
Every false-flag they perpetuate
Even though barbiturates
Are placed beneath our pillows
The shame billows
The shame follows
Rodents to the edge of the borough
Where men create addicts
There
Publicans turn
Badges burn
Magistrates press their shirts and hatch their eagles
Discernment is not taught
Nor is it learned
We are the obtuse...
Blacked out and abused!
Sold for pulpits and ocean views
Magistrates hate us
Their eagles circle to berate us
"Intolerant"
"Outdated"
"Unpatriotic"
"Ill-fated"
But by grace we persevere
By faith we adhere
To a higher truth
A purer view
Our strongholds are not stick
and stone
Chrome nor drone
But
Christ alone
Our strength and hope
Out hope for home
NOT polls and popes
NOT guns and votes
NOT Magistrates and lazy legislations
NOT eagles which feed on
Desensitized demonstrations
Police brutality and assassinations
Nomadic nations
Sporadic speculations
We
The Refused
We
The Misused
We
The Obtuse
Will NOT cosign evil
Will NOT massage magistrates
Will NOT elevate eagles
We will NOT
We must NOT
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
He Who Presents Visions
He personally fills the frame with a largeness broad shoulders wears the western hat perfectly the
Quintessential westerner handsome he projects comfort he stands good in tall trees he meets life on his
Terms confidence he projects easily with ease he takes his surroundings from their settings transfers
Them to canvas with deftness perfect tone and hue he captures his subjects he takes breathing living
Creatures and landscapes projects his vision of them in intricate detail he creates their life anew in
Flawless demonstrations he prepares this depth of understanding in the studio it is compelling it will
Touch draw ignite your emotional will into the viewing of his work you will see strength exhibited as
Naturally as if you were observing the original in the sight that he had the same light and shading the
Boldness that crosses from ordinary to beautiful his eye never wavers from magnificence and his
Fingers delicately follows the mental picture soft to strong the essence of being is being told wonder
Lives large in his expressive paints a telling by a master in full power of his talent nature is fused
With every ounce of reality that she gives of her proud display structures rise their presence
Phenomenal they have an essence that grabs holds your imagination only lets go when it has given all
Of the pleasure it contains one represented beast of the field causes a staggering effect that empowers
You to make a connection with the heard that is unseen but in your mind you know that it is there the
Billowing cloud and blue sky activates sensations that flow out and over you overwhelming feelings
Burst over you like a cloud burst on a rainy spring day flowers in profusion carpet the land they start
At the edge of the coral at the end of the barn and gently climb up the sloping hill far beyond the snow
Capped peaks shout of grandeur untold sweeping you to the end of a world bordered in a frame and
told on canvass
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:02 PM UTC
Come and keep by me
Give me the your hand of love and heart
Filled with emotion
Keep me from the days that spoil
Our marriage of minds
Here is the first of our great loves
The one and only togetherness of spirit
Clear and true and fresh like new
Make me lie down and rest
Send me the thoughts of your still mind
The casualness of your demeanour
And the demonstrations of hands
Over daily patterns showing
Push away those fears and trim your dread
Back to the endless visions and the horizons
Of a new born child
Unfettered and peaceful in the ignorance of
Daily disappointments and upheavals
Open your clear eyes and see the face of the future
Staring at you with its mask of confusion
Tear away that façade and feast your vision
On making wonderful and great strides
Ahead of our single footsteps where
Imprints in the sand calculate our pathway
We have come far in our quest as two
Into one and have become strong and justly so
Keep your face forward and don’t bend or turn
Step forward and feel the coolness of my touch
On your warm arm guiding you into
Even more love and caring
The whole world is ours and true love
Is the strength that holds us gently in its arms
Breathe deeply for the world is ours
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 11:14 AM UTC