How are the flaws as important as the beauty marks?
We seek perfection only to find the real value is in sharing the flaws,
learning to walk in the light of those scars that add depth to the soul,
inculcating the compassion necessary to grow as human beings.
Without flaws, there is no depth to the soul.
Perfection is our puny attempt to emulate the divine,
a feat that is never achievable and destined to break our spirit.
So share the flaws that allow the bonds of friendship and love,
infuse the compassion and integrate the knowledge

What is a tear but proof that the soul cries.
Today I felt sorrow for the less fortunate,
Driven to the brink of existence and smothered with lies.
Tormented by the reality of life’s inequities and berated
to the lowest level of living and existence.
Does a tear wash away the hurt and pain or
Salvage a wounded soul and lift a sad heart?
Tears are man’s escape from the internal suffering that
Is too hard to bear and can only be relieved with a gift,
like rain on a hot summer’s days cooling the parched earth.

Come my boy,
Sit down,
I’ll tell you about my time,
My time in my old town,
Which I hope is doing well,
I passed and left long ago,
Keeping the comedy alive,
For you see there was nothing grand about my time,
But it was a charming time,
A warm time,
All we had then were jokes,
All we had were our mountains,
Mountains full of pride,
Which stood so tall,

It was a charming time,
Difficult nonetheless,
For you see,
My beloved lost her mind,
And it was difficult for me,

This stellar happening
(with which arose the planet)
accumulates vast quantities
of ever-orbiting fragments
then spews the dust heavenward,
for us to see as blue.

Twelve; the year of liberation
Freedom from the tyrant
What a glorious sensation
No more, shhhh...”You can't”

Took up life-long habits
Some were bad and one was great
I bought my own cigarettes
Stayed up reading way too late

Mrs. Moore, I thank your grace
Stayed after school with me
I still see your smiling face
You're the one who set me free

Stories, places and times away
I had adventures and I flew
Read about the good old days
I knocked back root-beer brew

And I’ll say
When I had just turned twenty,
I was supposed to get married,
To this one girl,
We’ll call her Love,
But not that sweet kind of love,
That love that doesn’t even love you back,
That love that lies to you and doesn’t call back,
That love that secretly hates you,
Because it doesn’t understand you,
Nor does it want to,
Yes sir,
That kind of love,
The kind of love that will get up and leave you,

My heart races
My skin tingles
I'm scared again!
Every thought spinning around my head.
If I tried to follow,
I'd snap my neck!

Racing turns to pounding
Tingles turn to numbness
Why am I So afraid?
Any and all insecurities rise to the surface.
If this is who I am,
I don't want to live.

My chest hurts
but my body numb.
Is this what dying is?
Sheer panic holds me down, unable to move.
If I die,
Where will I go?

There’s these wires
Stuck into my heart
Connected to a little box
Tucked into my flesh
Beneath my skin.

It monitors me
Constantly
And occasionally
Fires off a searing jolt
Of electricity
Each time that it decides
What pumps my blood
Isn’t playing fair,

Making sure I do not die
When my heart decides
To leave The rest of me behind,
And that’s okay;
It isn't like I have a choice
If I want to stay Alive.

FREEDOM
what price freedom?
I know it well.
It is a window in a cell...
with walls to keep obsession out.
Yes, freedom is a lonely place -
and trust (?) It seems I quit that race -
won by those who once had hope,
won by those who compromised
their freedom for a deal.
Walking hand-in-hand with those they chose-
both captive creatures to their vows-
for better or worse - for life or death?
but, I shall never make that deal, for I remain imprisoned here,
surrounded by my walls of fear -

I close my eyes and at once its mute echo chimes
I listen and interpret the lush lilting lyricism of nature's sultry emerald chanteuse
As the chorus of everyday cacophony subsides a subtler sonnet is crafted
And upon the lyre of thoughtful psyche a cord profound is struck