cycle
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When you fall
When you take long in the cycle
Remember seeds do too
Deep in the dirt, drenched and dosed with heat
The kindness that draws A spirit closer to home
The mindlessness, flaws That makes us our own
Are all part of people Those lost and those found
None reaching the steeple But all heaven bound
A Dreary Twist
My thoughts are in a continuous loop
There is no end or beginning to this.
It is impossible to tell how it came to be.
This cycle of mine is similar to someone’s life
With no change, stagnant.
Time and time again, we repeat,
To live previous lives,
We live and then weep,
We then warn and die,
But despite our best teachings,
Descendants are our kin,
Roughly Windswept fickle hairs,
Motley, many, green and fair
An Intricate commodity
Blindly trampled haughtily
Each so glossy, keen and thin
All will fall, though none know when
O brazen man thus shackled hereWhat brought you to this lonesome place?Not lies nor law or liberty,But treasureHidIn Deep.
An ancient golden hue of sorrowHaunts my yesterday's tomorrow.My pilfered time yet still on borrowThe Brass Plaque.
Here we are,
Once again.
Through this cycle
Of ups and downs.
Here we are,
With the misunderstanding,
The miscommunications.
Here we are,
The back and froth,
Breathing in
And out
As tears cascade down
From eyes that have
Not yet seen light
Down her gentle
Features until they
Reach the cliff
Of her face and
Drop to the floor
-splash.
Blessed with the gift of freedom
We’re constantly at war with an idea
The idea of being true to ourselves and to each other
I sit, looking out, seeing PEOPLE, PLACES MOMENTS
America the Great, for what we are known for.
Living in the Mid-West I feel every season. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter, all in one.
The hot summer days are gone before the blink of an eye with winter on its way.
He's using his peer influences to abuse the chances that he was given
Life lessons run through his head you can tell he's feeling resentment
Aggravating headaches he seems to neglect propriety
There is no end to the circle I live in.
I attempt to trace back my steps,
but my resistance is met by force.
Around and around I go:
Stuck within the rotation- my existence is characterized by one of two states:
Maybe she would AgeAnd of many yearsDieBut one option she could not TakeWas ridding herself ofLife She would ScratchAnd rip her SkinCausing damage that could onlyScar She would cryTears dripping quickly She would begKnees scraping against the grou
Last night I thought that the Moon had disappeared.
A clear sky with no Moon
When I knew it should be a quarter full
I'm still not sure where it went
And the World Ended
the cycle is over
and will begin anew
with differnt players
on a differnt stage
telling the same story
of sorow and of joy
endings and begenings
but its alright
I'm awaken
coldness brushes against my cheek
tears slowly pouring out of my eyes
step-by-step
Closed walls, walled hearts
narrow halls, hollow parts.
A man alone, set apart
Black Turnstone, hidden heart.
High throne, thin skin
It’s strange, isn’t it?
Its warmth is needed for survival
But as soon as you reach toward it
As soon as you try to look at it a little more closely
You get burned
You're blinded
A Simple Seed
Existence
The seed everyone shares
Ignorant and seemingly unremarkable it grows
I stare into a shrinking candle’s flickering flame on my dusty, wax stained rug, on empty, still, Friday nights.
Women are equal as men. Although it takes two to make a baby, babies would not be in this world without women. I do believe the creation of life is a 50-50 job between a man and a woman, but within the job, the roles are split up.
The sun had blocked the rainbow,
Thinking it would reveal the gold.
The ice had cleaned itslef out,
Love
Pain
Pleasure
Sorrow
Exaltation
Incrimination
Parole
Loneliness
Discovery
Fear
Courage
Rejection
Acceptance
Hate
Love
Its a seasonal mystery
One might recall
of a boy and a girl
Who happened to take a fall.
Perhaps it is more
of a one sided land
Where the girl loves the boy
They say global warming is a hoaxI say... "thats insanely wack"I am sitting here, trying to convince you allTrying to get you join my one man wolfpack
Teachers can be great,
however, they can also be foul,
some kids can start to feel like bait.
Teachers can smile or they can scowl,
but they are there to "help" us.
They can whisper or they can howl.
The lion runs over the sun-bathed plains,
Into the mountains where it rains.
No longer a lion, but a goat,
It treks up high, and then shakes its coat.
Fur turns into feathers; it is now an eagle in the sky.
I once did wield
a sword of light
and a crested shield,
these I carried into fight
society's worst nightmare.
I gained, after long, the upper hand
a simple trade it were,
The teacher blames it on the kid,
The kid blames it on the home,
The home is composed of the parents,
And the parents blame it on the system,
The system blames it on society,
Encircled by an icy perfection
desiring spring to rise and thaw
yearning strictly buckled down
our passions mustn’t gain control
A man, far surpassing his time,
Sojourns patiently for the population
To catch his wit and grasp his rhyme,
But our minds equivocate in their stations.
