|From my Featured Gallery!|
The Sorrow of the LeavesThe light, decanted by the leaves - 'tis diffused,
A scattering barely seen from the ground;
Perhaps the greed of a few, who were crowned
By the light are blessed; the rest refused
This need... Could be a thought - or a ruse:
The leaves that are in the shadows still live;
They manage themselves, the Sun need not give
Any importance for their needs: disuse
Has made them adapt to their surroundings.
Just as a child who accepts the darkness,
The leaves survive. And for this, adapting
To what we think as Fate wrought in sadness,
They are like their roof above: their callings
Understood; more than us, who see far less.
Rain Soothes the Distraught SoulMy mind disengages from the machine
and unravels like a gossamer blanket.
I lie on my bed as if tranquilized while I inhale the petrichor
Listening to the rain create ripples in the river
I am put in an instant bliss
the scent of the evergreen bushes soothes my distraught soul
and my mind is put to ease.
DogstarI’m not one for writing hate-mail,
But I’m going to go postal
If one more person asks me
What I’m doing with my life.
I have aces and eights emblazed on my chest.
I have never worn a vest,
But if I did,
That’s where I would keep my cards.
Go ahead and tell me again
How smart I am,
How I can do anything.
That’s precisely the problem.
The reason I’ve spent two semesters at community college,
And changed my major four fucking times.
Ask me again,
Don’t you like math?
I’ll tell you again,
Yeah, I do, sometimes.
Know what else I like sometimes?
English, science, art, music, silence, business, pleasure, pain, the rain, the sun, the moon, the earth, helping people, hurting people, Buddhism, BDSM, feminism, comic books, poetry, punk rock, rock climbing, roller coasters, rocket science, astronomy, amateur phlebotomy, philosophy, psychology, psychopathy, serenity, cigarettes, chaos theory, coffee, canis vulpis, and carnivorous plants.
My Reality, My FantasyI like my fantasy world, thanks.
Bitlets 219You can't build a bird, but you can craft a wing.
to be heard (speak)i would write you
if these sentences
weren't so wasteful.
call it a stanza
but this is a
wild and tearing
at my language.
i would hold you
if only i could
stop these hands
i would open myself
lay bare rampant wishful thinking,
scrawl suns and stars that do nothing
except shine bright and useless
screaming your name
in technicolour until maybe
i caught your attention;
i would open myself
if only i weren't
so deathly afraid.
heart, steady your beating;
handle adjective gently,
for some things are not
made for embellishment.
bravery is a promise
you soar, you swim,
and i tire of assembling
wings that break and