Stop
Wait
Listen

Did I ever tell you, about the laughing Jester?
The one who lets his jokes fester?

Or the girl with the stars in her eyes
the one who left under October skies?

So many Stories
So many tales
so much to learn
so much to sea
much sea to see
So much world to explore!

Many books to walk in
read through
talk to

Did i ever tel you
about the crying mother?
Whose daughter left her
for a violent lover?

Or the one of the heartbroken daughter?
who was raised by an abusive father?

Art is expression
has no need for discretion

Words for a story
astounding gory

Words for a poem
to remind the soldier of home

tear-drop stained pages
of tear-drop stained lives

Hives of existence
Barren of self- expression
of story
of song
of art
of heart

Did i ever tel you
about the prisoner of war?
He got letters from his lover
which made his heart soar

But sore was hi heart
of distance far apart
so he crafted his letters
each one a piece of art

Stories tel tales
Poems tell emotions

Words, splattered on a page
sometimes to crass for young age

Did i ever tel you of the mighty dragon?
who had stolen the kings wooden flagon?
He set it aflame
and ran for shame
for fire is passionate
secret
precious

Lives come and go
as easy as river flow
each winking out of existence
for instance:
Murder,rape, horror tragedy;
mother and would - be brides
crying out at would-be lives

But wait
it's not always late
a shining beacon in the blackness
hope overcomes despair

Did I ever tell you
About the story of the long forgotten brother?
Whose might was rivaled by none other?

or what about the time
in which a stitch saved number nine?

There are many voices
still yet to be heard

There are many dreams
still yet to be lived

there is still yet so
much color to be painted

Did i ever tell you about the
suicidal boy?
who had no hope
and had no joy?

Did i ever tell you the sweetest thing?
it feels like summer
and tastes like spring

I have so many stories
to tell
joke to laugh at
tears to fell

Life's not over yet
so use it
as canvas;
your pencil;
your paper.

Tell your story
live your story

dream your poems
on clouds of alabaster
without need
of these walls of plaster.