Excuse Me , I Thought You Could Write(Splash Pool Submission Working with titles)

Confusion flies across the page
As if the words have lost their way
And originality has died
A run on sentence fell off the edge
committing suicide

you know not your assonance
from your consonance
Yet the script still prattles on
The coherent thought that should be there
Has all but left and gone

Your words look great upon the page
Roget would be so proud
Who cares about their meaning
Or how they sound aloud

Dawn- slayer of pretense, usher of youth-
you, born anew as passing season,
wield those luminous swords, sharp and uncouth,
and absolve ignorance of reason.
Are you not the mother of sweet knowledge?

Dawn – light of tunnels, well of Saharas-
You, of divine hue, alive in Dark’s death
when all that’s fair is stripped of myrrhs
And Life’s Eden is, fast as youth, but heath.
Are you not the promise that Hope is nigh?

—Mini-anthology: Hepatica—

The unblinking eyes of Killer
glazed with thought in the dark
Thinking thoughts of blackness
of the director of this park

Pre-teens are in favor here
he likes them young and tender
He's supposed to be a good man
Take care of this social-center

Now suddenly, the silence is broken
There are sobs of pain and shame
Whispers of consolation
to a child that will be un-named

I’ve seen and breathed and felt
The wood-works
The earthworks
The weavings
The paintings
And the writings
Project images of realities
And my heart pounded countless times
And restless like a heated desire
That makes me yearn to journey more
Into the past, and the present
And the days yet to dawn upon our moor
With the beauties of these hands
Mentored by the mind's eyes.
This heated desire
Is a true journey to an origin
Of a magic world hidden inside us.