Description: Sam's not at all who people think he is. He might be quiet, he might be shy, but he also was diagnosed with cancer. When Briar moves to town, she catches Sam's eye. What will happen once the two get closer? Will Briar light a spark in Sam's heart?

-

Distant Memory

Dedicated to my cousin, Blake, who is currently fighting a horrific battle of Lymphoma.



You're probably thinking this is just some clichè love story, one about a girl having a crush on her best friend's brother, or how two people fall madly in love, but it's anything but. This is my story, with a twist unlike any other.

~

It all started in our Junior year of high school. You were new to Wakefield High, just moving here the previous year from New York City. On the first day of school, you were so unsure of yourself, not knowing what to do or where to go. I watched as you made your way through the halls, nudging your way through the crowded bodies as students made their way to class. Even though the halls were tremendously over-crowded, you were easy to spot. Your blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes stood out by the school's bland beige walls. You were more radiant, more powerful and glowing, than anything or anyone in the whole school.

Eventually, you made friends in all the clubs you'd joined - culinary club, photography club, and ASL. I don't know what made you stand out from all the other girls at Wakefield High, but whatever it was, it was strong. I felt drawn to you, like we shared a connection deeper than either of us knew. And it was then when I made it my goal to get to know you.

For the first few weeks, I'd tried bulking up the courage to speak to you. I had planned it all out in my mind. I would talk to you at lunch, right as you gathered your food and headed off to the library like you do every day. That was my chance, and I was determined to stick with it.

On that day, I was behind you in the lunch line. Once you got up there, you ordered a chicken empanada, then headed off to the library in the West wing. I quickly grabbed my lunch, a light Cesar salad, and trailed behind you.

You were walking faster than expected, and I was just too weak. I stopped, holding my knees as I gasped for breath. That was my chance to talk to you, to finally hear your beautiful voice, and I blew it.

It wasn't because of what you think. I couldn't keep up because I was lazy or out of shape, because I was neither of those.

I was diagnosed with Leukemia last October, and after tons of treatment, my doctor said I could try going back to school. I decided it would probably be best for me to live a normal life - as much as normal can get for a boy with cancer. Knowing that I was going to die soon - my doctor predicted I would only last for another year, tops - made me want to get to know you more.

After many wasted days of trying - but failing - to get your attention, I gave up. You were too wrapped up in your new life to even acknowledge my existence. Too busy maintaining your new found reputation, too busy dating a new guy every week. I always thought you were a ***** because of it, that you took advantage of different guys and then left them to crumble to pieces, but all of that changed on that faithful day.

I had gotten dropped off late to school because I had to get tests run at the hospital that morning. I tried to get to class on time, running as fast as I could. Only that didn't work because before you knew it, I was out of breath once again.

I headed over to the restroom, hoping a cool splash of water on my face would do the trick, when I heard wailing in the girls bathroom. I looked over my shoulder before entering, just to be safe. As I closed the door, I locked it behind me.

You were leaning against the wall, knees drawn to your chest as you cried. Noticing a presence, you looked up at me, thick black mascara running down your rosy cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and I could tell you'd been crying for quite a while.

I didn't know what to say or do at that point, so I did what my heart told me I should do. I held you.

I sat next to you and wrapped my arms around you. Your body seemed small and weak, heaving in my arms. You cradled your head into my neck as tears fell from your bright blue eyes. I didn't bother asking what was wrong. Figured I would at a better time.

Just then, you looked up at me, face flushed and blotchy, and grabbed my hand. It seemed to fit perfectly within yours, our frail fingers intertwined in each others.

I tucked a few of your light blonde strands behind your ears as your cries dwindled. Even after you'd finished crying, you sat with me.

"What's your name?" Your eyes shone with curiosity.

"Sam."

"I'm Briar."

Briar. What a beautiful name. I smiled in your tangled hair. I never in a million years thought I would ever talk to you, and even if I had, I never would have expected it to be quite like this.

"You like Ed Sheeran too?" You asked, your eyes widening in delight as you scanned my shirt. I watched a smile creep to your face, lighting up your gorgeous eyes.

"Yeah, he's my favorite singer," I smile shyly. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks, and I feel embarrassed for acting this way.

Ever since then, we began talking. The more we talked, the more I knew how wrong I was about you. You weren't a ***** at all; all the guys you've dated broke up with you, but blamed it on you every time. That's how you got the title as biggest ***** of the school. I felt bad because you were one of the sweetest people I'd ever met, portraying someone you weren't.

I felt like that Ed Sheeran shirt brought me luck. It was the start to our budding friendship.

After a while, you completely changed. You stopped hanging out with the populars, claiming they were never into you anyway. And I found you enjoyed yourself more. I ended up joining the photography club later that year. Whenever we would go out on weekends, I was always taking pictures of you, catching the memories within a moment of time.

You always loved my pictures. As we sat in my bedroom, I'd let you pick out your favorites for you to keep, writing little notes on the back of each picture. Your absolute favorite one was that one of the two of us.

We were in a huge field, smiling as I held you in my arms wedding style. Your blonde hair flew around in all different directions and your eyes held happiness and joy. That was my favorite one too.

I had always had feelings for you, ever since that day in the bathroom, but I'd never have the chance to show you how I really feel. Even if I did, why would you love me back? I have no hair anymore since going through chemotherapy. My body's frail and weak, barely able to stand up on my own.

I had went to the doctors two days ago for more tests, and the doctor found that the tumor in my brain was growing more and more rapidly by the second. Therefore, I would be dying sooner than expected. I only had four days left. My mother held me in her arms as she cried, her wet tears staning my t-shirt.

That night, I called you and told you the news. You cried into the phone, and I wish I was there to hold you, tell you that everything would be okay, that I would be better soon. It was a lie, but I didn't want to hear you sad. I felt bad for being the cause of it.

The next day, I was rushed to the hospital after my mother found my collapsed in my room.

It was then I knew my life was coming to a close. I grabbed a pen and piece of paper, and wrote you a letter.

~

Dear Briar,

If you're reading this, I'm probably gone by now. I just woke up to the dimly lit lights flooding into my room, tubes and needles inside of me. My heart monitor is beeping weakly next to me, and I feel very frail. Cold, frail, and in tremendous pain. You're alseep on the couch right next to my bed and I watch you, take in your beauty for the last time. Your blonde hair is flowing around your head like a halo, your lips look like delicate red rosebuds. Even though I am weak, getting skinnier by the second, I make my way over to your side, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

I never told you about my cancer, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for causing you the pain of me leaving you. I never meant for it to be this way. All I wanted was to live a normal life, and you showed me that there's happiness even in the smallest of places.

When you miss me, look at the pictures of us, pinned to a board on your bedrooom wall. Remember the memories we've had together. Remember the way you always made me smile, the dozens of laughs you filled me with. You showed me how to enjoy life, Briar. And I could never ask for anything more.

You filled my gloomy days with so much laughter I could barely contain myself. Remember me like that, Briar. Remember me happy.

I never realized it before, but I've fallen in love with you; your glowing smile, eyes the color of the raging ocean. I'd never known what love felt like, but I found it with you.

I love you so much, Briar. Never forget that. And remember I'll always be with you.

Love forever and always,

Sam

~

Briar's POV

I woke up to Sam's heart monitor, constantly beeping.Looking at the monitor, I noticed his breaths were slowing.

I made my way over to his bedside, rubbing my thumb gently across his cheek. His eyes were closed as his chest rose every so often.

"If only you knew how much I love you, Sam," I whispered, a single tear falling from my eyes. I watched him smile as he dwindled away.

"Sam? Sam?" My eyes filled with panic as I shook him lightly. "Sam?" My voice rose as I looked at the monitor, seeing the thin red line.

"Help! Somebody help!" I cried. As soon as those words escaped my lips, his hospital room flooded with doctors and nurses. They surrounded him, pushing me away to see what had happened. But they didn't need to. I already knew.

A doctor with black curly hair came rushing over to me. "I'm sorry, but he's gone.."

He's gone... He's gone... He's gone...

Those words rung in my ears, filling my head. I ran over to your bedside, crying my eyes out and practically screaming your name, hoping you'd come back to me.

I lay my head on your unmoving chest, letting my tears soak into your shirt. I noticed a small white envelope on the table next to you, To my sweet love, Briar, was written on it in your handwriting. I stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans before heading out of the hospital, feeling numb and empty.

I reread the letter over and over, tears staining the white lined paper.

"I love you, Sammy," I said, looking up at the bright blue sky. Even though the world seemed empty without you, I know I had to be strong. For you.

On days where I feel I can't bear your absence, I look at the pictures you took, just like you'd asked. I never knew you would change my life in such a drastic way.

A fluffy winged adventurer seed
sanctified by the halo
gifted by morning sun's kind rays
slowly descends on its parachute.

I still remember the color of your eyes that day
it's still my favorite color
they were the color of gold
but not exactly gold
white
but not exactly white
they were the color of the sun behind the clouds
just as the sun rises
and the color of the sun behind the clouds
right before the sun begins to set
they were the color of the star I stared at
while me and another girl I loved
talked about our dreams
(she longed for the cosmos-
I only longed for her)
they were the color of what I think my soul looks like
the color of what my wings were before I fell
the color of a halo,
of God's throne, of
the love I feel within my chest.
they were the color of what a spark feels like
as it pierces your mind
and electrifies your lungs,
sending you into deadly spasms-
and yet, they are glorious while they last;
you never thought you'd enjoy dying.
they were the color of an angel's blade
and the color of the inside of my eyelids
as my body burned away from looking at the kingliness
not meant for me or any mortal-
they were the color of something I never thought
I'd see again,
the color of a place my soul had almost forgotten,
they forged a connection, a wormhole
to something bigger and more powerful
than I could ever imagine.
Like a long-lost brother
or finding your house in the middle of a strange city-
like seeing your mother for the first time and
instinctively knowing who she is-
like I was being called home, to my true home,
and I could only get there
if I just could reach, a little farther...
Heaven is present in everything, I know,
but it was personified in your eyes.

My #2
Consistently
Even two years ago before I ever started flirting and you wouldn't take a ******* hint
I will forever be grateful to you for staying up with me on a call until I passed out to make sure I wouldn't hurt myself in the middle of the night
And always dropping other things to play **** games with me because they made me happy
And listening to me rant about animal (especially bug) mating habits
And how everything ******
And gaming
And halo reach
I swear to god the stars haven't looked the same
I enjoy everything so much more (given I do have more freedom now that I moved in with mom)
I named at least four different animals after you but this last one, ale eggs, lost his family and I'm just hoping you don't succumb to the same fate  
I know you got jealous about tanner and angry about Eric since he threatened me with the thing I'm most afraid of after needles and you know it and he knows it
If you took a ******* hint both of us would have been happier sooner
And now thanks to my selfish ***** needs it might all fall apart just when I'm close enough to meet you and it's killing me
I have been waiting years to hug you it would **** me if you decided you didn't want me now
I'll never love anyone so much I remember so much about them
I'm sorry I was a selfish ***** ****** please forgive

the smell of a rose I've never known
doesn't that sound romantic
but I've truly never smelt such a flower
so it's daisies I'll compare you to
a chain of happiness
(that I've failed to make)
wrapped around my head
like a halo of corpses
but I don't point that out
I don't want to upset you
that's why I'm not totally honest
I suppose it's not a lie either
none truths just make me feel guilty
upset that I can't be straight with you
so on the next special occasion
I'll hide my feelings with a bouquet
tie a bow around flowers that say:
"I think you're pretty great"

troll tooth
oger toe 
flow stupid 
fistful of shiny carbon lattice wilt
and a composted halo too
beautifully torn derivatives slid
from this orifice
oven timer set fer 

office space wasted

noob cubed 
these are exponential times we're livin in, sim

yer prolly obsolete, so tap the banner below
for more there's more
trends friend then interrogate 
unfriend those has-been's for the win dim 
naked lightbulbs swing from
threadbare strings faster than light plus **** too 

there's ***** adorno

how right you were 
this **** is almost criminal 
art narcs on

the hole a' truth
so help me dog

im
the hominid 
that stood up 

this fiction.

slipstream hoolahoop no-show

I want a Sunday kind of love—one that is as
comforting and warm as my favorite soft robe tied
tight around my ******* on a foggy morning.
The kind of morning that licks at my consciousness and
makes me still feel as if I’m dreaming—that hazy blur
where reality and my burning desire collides.
A love that wakes up with the sun, lips against my
shoulder smelling of last night’s whiskey kisses, strong
hands pulling me close, nestled into the soft
voluptuousness of my ******* and grabbing hold of your
dreams, the fit of an arm around my waist.
Our Saturday clothes full of adventure and sunlight will
be left carelessly crumpled on the floor of my room, little
bits of leaves and dirt scattered about—now nothing more
than just artifacts of our late night walk in the rain, but
still smelling like rusty promises and a desire so hot it
will singe your fingertips as they slowly undress me.
I want a Sunday kind of love.
Although you've been ******* me for a while now—
first my skepticism and sarcasm fell from my shoulders
like heavy stones to the bottom of a cold rushing river; I
stepped out of my insecurities and fears while you held
my hand and that now seem to have been misplaced
somewhere along the way.
My masks of who and what I should be that I wore for far
too long now collect dust and seem like nothing but sad
old memories that I have no need to cling to any longer.
Just when I will believe I couldn’t bare any more of
myself to you, you’ll take your hands and draw the soft
blue cotton of my dress up around my hips, my waist,
exposing my *******, over my head tossing it recklessly
aside ––and suddenly, there will be nothing left to hide
behind.
And so we will fall into the light of a thousand stars, the
dreams from the nightmares that woke us for far too long,
the sleepless nights and the breath choking in the back of
our throats, the words that burn to be said—all of it will
disappear into that one moment that will be caught in
between our lips as they meet.
And the night will last until the sun wakes us with her
light through heavy tender kisses, scratches along
ripened exposed skin deep with a passion and a fervent
rocking desire that will leave us both breathless.
It will be a night of sweet strawberry whiskey, the haze of
smoke circling around our heads and opening up our
eyes. It will be fiery grilled peaches sweetened with rose
honey and melted vanilla ice cream, it will be a million
moments that all will come down to one.
The moment where a Saturday Night turns into a Sunday
Morning.
I want a Sunday kind of love.
Last night’s laughter will still echo in the back of our
throats, but we will have lost our voices to the softness of
a Sunday morning. Barely speaking above a whisper I
will trace all of my secrets onto your skin with my lips,
waking you from your sleep as I press my bottom against
you, not needing words, because you will already know
what I want.
My mouth will seek out your neck, my fingertips tracing
the steps of a thousand journeys that have finally brought
you to me, and I’ll take you in my mouth, saying good
morning to you in the only way that I know how.
My bedroom hair will be messy and tangled, nothing but a
fallen halo of ***** nonsense falling over and around you
as I move, daring you to ever leave this bed.
Soft heirloom quilts holding the dreams of tomorrows in
shades of blues and greens like my eyes, but not nearly
as deep––or as passionate—especially when you’re the
one I’m looking at.
Mottled light through the shades creating warm shadows
across our skin, leaving the softness of bed wearing
nothing as I toss a smile over my shoulder and I leave
you lying in bed wondering how you ever got here, and
yet at the same time, how could you possibly ever leave.
I’ll bring you a heavy mug of steaming coffee smelling
like the exotic hills of Peru and tasting almost as sweet
as me, and though we will have every intention of
drinking it, the mugs will sit growing cold, as at first we
will laugh until I begin moving against you once again,
and you unable and unwilling to resist will come to play
with me once more.
I want a Sunday kind of love.
Eventually we will rise, and I’ll put on your worn t-shirt I
picked up from the floor—just because I can—and,
barefoot with music playing, I’ll make us pancakes.
Swaying my hips as I mix and fry them over a hot griddle,
the oil spitting and biting at my bare skin, just like I’ve
done a thousand mornings before—except this time I’ll be
making them for you.
We’ll sit in the dappled sunlight and have breakfast, the
air smelling like bacon and fresh coffee, and I’ll watch
your eyes as you see the maple syrup trickle down my
chin and land on the rise of my ******* begging to be
licked off by your hungry mouth.
I’ll ask you to leave the dishes where they are as I say I’ll
be in the shower if you want to join me—although there
was never a question as to if you would.
Because this is a Sunday kind of love; one that begs to
stay undressed and tasted slowly, one that lingers on our
lips long after it's passed.
I want a Sunday kind of love.

A ring around the sun
An omen for the dumb
A reminder of the sum
To the faintness of our hum

There is a city in the water
Where the color whirls
She is mocking what we taught her
The demur of a world

There is a fire in the sky
Just a passer by
And if you hide your eyes
You will be surprised

There is thunder in the dirt
Sliding lands on molten rock
And if you listen to it work
You can hear it talk

The moon was bright and ripe and full
The stars would emphasize her glow
A sphere of guidance in the clouds
Eternally in growth
But then a week or so went by
Her brilliance seemed to dim
So speculated we below
She'd finally given in
Then wither and decay, did she
At quite the startling pace
Knew eve by eve when darkness fell
We'd soon forget her face
And then came time while gazing up
We had to squint to see the light
She'd broken down, cast out her halo
Become a sliver in the night
We knew her final breath was here
With racing hearts we stood in fear
So night, once bated, crept too near
And darkness overcame.

I write for reality
Whether in intense thought
Or faint mindedness
To comb the brains delicately
Of those I relate to in this world
And of those whom I don't
I do it for the love of it
My soul resignates with life
Hence the name "Poetic Soul"
My alias of divinity
Dubbed to me by nature
Of my mind and moving pen
Which gracefully dances on paper
Gloriously and convivially.

I write to inspire
To enrich my touch
My floating halo
Upon my readers
Within the minds that feel
My every thought
My words waft, they skim
Coasting in the hearts
Of my earthly kinsmen
Just as the words and thoughts
Of my fellow poets
Inspire and encourage me
More strongly and deeply
Than they'll ever realize.

I write for the ease
My seraphic oneness
The ever so calmness
The animation and binding
Of my mind
My force field
My genuine escape
Into my peaceful planet
Whence I flutter freely
As a celestial poetic being
To find solemness
Where I am dominant
Where I find comfort
I emphasize to myself
And further bestow
My many words
To sprout and levitate
As a supernal
To reign as a writer
A born poet
With a soothing soul
For my era and existence
Forever and beyond.

©Michael P. Smith

i speak only to you,
my single place of refuge.
my poetically philosophical lover,
with your smoke-filled lungs
and glorious ink-filled veins.
those rose red lips may surely tempt an angel
for I've exchanged my wings and halo simply for your delirious touch.
heaven knows how much i desire you
and how i ache for your embrace.
and lucifer is surely aware
of how many times i've promised my soul for a single kiss.
-l.c.g.

The sky rains down
With feathers from an angel
Look at her there, she's lost her halo.
So sad, so fragile- her tears splash and echo
As harp strings strain to play a solid note.

Come back home,
Come back home...
Your wings may molt;
Head, unadorned
From rings of gold.
But here in my arms
Is where you belong,
Let my four walls
Carry your song.

-SLuR

A golden smile, a gilded mane
Soft sunlight, the smell of rain
Singing eyes, the sirens' call
Smiling still, despite the fall
Halo of light, suspended still
Golden flight, yellow daffodil
Porcelain skin, pale as the moon
A vision of life, in the afternoon
Drenched in sun, light and tears
Her gilded lips, are drawing near

Since we spoke last,
I dyed my hair twice.
And got a couple jobs.
And quit a couple more.

I nearly got a tattoo,
but settled on a piercing instead.
I signed a lease for my first apartment,
and changed my major back
to the one you talked me out of the first time.

I got lost a couple times,
and learned how to save myself.
I figured out how important real friends are.
I went on a few dates,
and said a few things I regret.

I missed you and scorned you
in equal measure.
And finally realized
that everything in life is a lesson.

I learned what I will and won't
accept anymore.
And I could probably kick your *** at Halo now.

I changed my music tastes a couple times,
and tried not to think of you.
I learned how to code websites,
how to smoke menthols,
and how to hold my liquor.

I learned how to get off my phone and
enjoy life once in a while,
because I don't have to wait for you
to call anymore.

I counted hours and stopped counting months,
and realized that those anniversaries are just
other days now.
And that's okay.

I realized that life goes on,
no matter how much you're sure it won't.
And that's okay too.

I've never felt quite so clean as when I woke up at dawn with bugs and sweat all over me after not showering for three days and I took a bath in a waterfall. I've never felt quite so clean as when the dust filled my eyes as I spun the loves of my life in circles. I've never felt quite so clean as when I kicked my shoes off and walked through the mud. I've never felt quite so clean as when I brushed my teeth in a room full of mold, body hair, and strange fluids. I've never felt quite so clean as when the smell of mildew seemed permanently embedded in my nostrils. I've never felt quite so clean as when I chose to sit in the ice cold and I wasn't sure I could do it but my friends, my friends, the truest friends I've ever had, knew my favorite song and they knew I needed help so they sang it I smiled and opened my eyes to a halo of light and darkness and love and isolation. I've never felt quite so clean as when my throat was raw from shouting and my skin was covered in charcoal and ash and the sweat dripped down my back as I was surrounded by pumping fists and bodies and spit from screams and I knew I was a leader then, I knew I belonged then. I've never felt quite so clean as when I stared up at the Milky Way, completely naked in the middle of the forest on a dirt road, walking next to a girl whose soul I dirtied and she looked at me and I knew I was forgiven and she sang to me a song that she shouldn't have. I've never felt quite so clean as when two of the dirtiest people that have ever existed, in two completely different ways, pulled together in the only light that shone through the cool new darkness of that night, while the whole of our worlds watched and we danced, we danced and they all laughed because they could see, and it wasn't what or who we were supposed to be, but in that moment it was the most clean that I have ever felt.

.
The more I think, and reflect about life, the more it strikes how little we need to survive.
.
But then the question of my life itself baffles me still.
In the name of
Cups and Wands
and Swords and Pentacles.
How does one figure out
how one wants to ease into the world—
in what manner
what face
what costume
what identity
shall we assume
in this theatrical muse of mass-scale rehabilitation.
Searching,
for the right attire
in a tolerable personality.
To eventualize, to officiate, to become
A masterpiece—
by the hands of time
and the wheels of fortune.
So that we may be made worthy
Maybe, if you were dealt with luck.

Fortune's Fool—
How do we know which
is the correct way to go
sᴉ ǝɥʇ ʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ʎɐʍ oʇ oɓ·
in hindsight.
To hunt for a halo in the robes of glee
while you dwindle in time
Abject, at sea.

Cut the chase.
Bleed. Heal.
Await the haemorhage and its evanescence.
And when you approach the Great Finale,
Be free.
.
At any moment of time, we have one foot in the abyss while the other lapses into ecstasy.
.

The neon sign's piping glows cool amber
through the glass's core like an unholy
halo, drowning in the now half-empty
bottle of Miller. The liquid calls me
home, sliding down my throat, tickling my tongue.
As I see her slight figure framed by light—
dipping at the waist, my fingers begin
to trace the curves, her body full, alive.
"Picture" by Kid Rock comes on the jukebox,
while the guys knock down a last round of pool.
She sweats through a humid night in Fort Knox.
Drops sit on her neck like pretty faux pearls—

I cradle the bottle like a blue sin.
Taking another sip, I drink her in.

Antibiotics may be the greatest discovery of human kind.
Lord knows its saved our soul many of times!
Its halo can be seen in a petri dish.
In the smiles of children on hospital wards.

But antibiotics aren't just drugs, or are you my drug?

Because your halo is keeping bad things away from me, my petri dish is clean!
Yet, the goodness is seeping from my bones and I get weaker with every day that I'm in love with you.

To my antibiotic, resistance is futile but finishing the course might **** me.

She lives in the green room.
Where the curt air's laying thick.
Walls like apple crumble.
Cracking to the resonance of the latest passing train.
A box of tricks and secrets held,
within her PC brain.
Halo of electric light.
It's aura, hanging on the arty ceiling,
like a sulky angel would.
She's killing time for company.
She mutters to her ego,
awaiting it's response.
It's response is somehow null and void.
The lady's confidence destroyed.
Hit round the head with all sorts of capers.
Her failings lashed together with cigarette papers.
No pun intended, surely no joke.
Rather bizarre considering the lady doesn't smoke.
(C)LIVVI

Six degrees below
Planetary motion shifts hues
Sunlight blues scattered
Splattering a blood halo haze
Across the swift darkening scene

Princess 6

In the aching heart of tormented years
he holds a picture
Like scarification of a her face tattooed in his mind
Autumn leaves turn to summer rain
If he could draw her he would with sunshine
and a rainbow halo but all he has are charcoal
Black like his soul without her
If he could turn the page on his story
He'd move on
But sometimes love is desolation
and there is no consolation.

A Mass Inversion.

I have lived to witness an Apple
become a juggernaut
see the followers nod their heads in belief,
walking segregated on the streets
unaware of their own worship.

We have not yet realized
that the largest religion in the world
is no longer faith based,
technophiles fill our rural
and metro quintessential sprawl.

Their numbers swell
and burgeon with new converts
that give funding rank and file,
whom are taught to know indulgence
in name only, mistaking desire for need.

This technology based obsession
is without age or gender restrictions,
without race distinction,
it asks not for ethics,
       pride,
morality,
intelligence or privacy.

It is all-consuming
just as any ideology-
as any religion,
answering the same fervent questions,
demanding tribute and changing the way you think.

-

The View Outside.**

Among the whole, the slow mass conversion,
there is occasional dissension,
some who glorify a golden era or fill with nostalgia
for something they may not have even experienced,
an immaterial escapism of the present
furthered by a childish inability to accept ephemerality
and our irregular morality.

Sometimes amid this denial,
this abstaining,
there is a seed of anger that grows with gnarled roots
that twist throughout with nary a cry or shout.

It is a quiet anger,
unconditional and baseless but for an intensity,
a burning sense of being wronged,
an infection that spreads without exception.

And when your self-righteous halo eventually slips to catch
in your now flapping jaw,
your anger will fade as you choke on hard etched resolve.

I'll never fully fathom what you went through
But I want you to know it doesn't define you
If I could I would take your hurt as my own
I want you to know you will never be alone
It pains me to think of what you've endured
But you've won the battle, life is your reward
Your the epitome of beauty and you don't even know
Submerged in faith, you find the courage to grow
Scarred by a past full of darkness and violence
You mask your vulnerability beneath subtle silence
No need to speak, your deep insightful eyes say it all
Rising from your ashes no matter how hard the fall
Everything you do is influenced by your grace
You subconsciously struggle to hide it from your face
Yet your elegance can not be subdued
You set up walls, its your past you allude
In a world of lies your illuminated by truth
Your inner light shines as an halo, encompassing you
Surrounded by shallow ambition you remain grounded
You never surrender, even when you feel surrounded
Your vulnerability comes from your soul
Mixing with your courage, making you whole
So tune with your emotions there are times when you cry
As you bravely look reality in the eye
Little broken angel, in times your wings will heal
The last faith in this world, your the only thing that's real
A living saint with wisdom beyond your years
Carrying the weight of the world and battling your fears
Caught in a war with no intent to win
For the outcome will be greater, peace within
As I write these words I begin to see clearly
I can only hope there is a hint of you inside me
I want to thank you for showing me love
Your my guardian angel, sent from above
In a world of despair your spirit provides contrast
Epitomizing hope, your influence will always last
All that I am is a product of you
This is the one thing I know to be true
So whenever you feel the toll of life's pressure
Remember that my love is beyond any measure
Words can't describe the beauty of your spirit
A symphony of all things pure, waiting for you to hear it
So as I tell you I love you, I'm really saying much more
I was born into a closed world and you opened the door
You are the reason I know about love
My angel in disguise, sent from above

Ha ha doesn't do it.
Ha ha can't be it.
Nothing like Nihilism
Enlists the whole lament.
Slack relief in disbelief
mine of God
I just figured
No halo
finished
Time

Next line no using
phones please and no
cursing please think
that's going to ****
off the young,
when all they read
How mellow
Now trees?

So you think getting
pregnant tired driving 40
on the night they drove
old Dixie down it
couldn't rain enough for
me I wanted to see
their Wagonwheel slats
stuck up to their humps
in dreams. It's easy to
get a palm trimming.
actually think they
read anywhere
can write some
One.

At least I have a
******* palm
yes I'm lying
in bed now get some
sleep it's who
they all say you're *******
my recording girl
you took my
only lighter.
Because
what God
touts God
Routs and tryouts
buy shouts
yet still
Doubts if
She is really out.
Ha ha! Nihilists won't expound.

Going to sleep
is the best thing
a person can do.
After a long day of work
just slip under the covers
clean, wrinkled, soft and daring
the night a comfortable pillow
in which to rest sleepy tired eyes
while finishing a dystopian sci-fi movie
taking place in the desert.
Furiosa takes the night
across her shoulders
black engine grease smeared
across her forehead as Mad Max
rides shotgun
before the heat consumes them.
Enjoying every sand crusted
machine cranked thrusted
water tank bomb shell.
She is the best kind of heroine
taking complete control
of the current situation.
But sometimes there’s a break
when the dusk becomes depth
merging into the white halo of moon
slivered like a cut thumbnail
just hanging there, lifeless.
And this is when
the truth becomes
completely apparent.
Resting one’s body
after a tough week
of physical and emotional sickness
becomes first priority
where relaxation nods its weary head
to slumber under a pile of blankets.

Breaking clouds, illuminated arrival
a halo surrounds the oldest soul
in orbit through this midnight world
lonely shadow, scattered sky
blessed light to shuttered eyes

Oh, you poor thing
Only a mess of tears and feathers now
Your innocent halo, cracked and broken
Your newly-found wings, singed to a coal black
How did it feel to be discarded?
Cast out of the only home you knew
Having to fall so far down, so far below
Into a place where no one knows your name
Only a shapeless form on the sidewalk now
And for what, because you changed?
Because they didn’t like this new you,
Even though, from birth, this has always been you?
They just never saw it, refused to see it
Covered their eyes and prayed some more for you
Did it hurt the way they shouted fire?
Holding onto old traditions and ideals
And trying to convince you this was wrong,
That you were wrong?
Did it hurt the way they scarred your body?
They way they refused to listen,
Condemning you without a trial?
Without a voice?
Well, many of us have felt the same
Your not alone in that
But sooner or later you’ll have to rise,
Up from the ashes, dusting them away
So pick up your discarded, broken halo
Stick the ends into your bleeding head
Wear it like a crown, with pride, with bravery
Shed your feathers, reveal what’s underneath
And when you walk into that darkness, you’ll see
Just how not alone you are