Poetry

Anger. 

Anger is a thing I am not proud of.

Yet it happens, where I cannot control what I say or do.

The day is soft and silent.

 Except for the quiet chirp of the crickets,

 and the lonely breeze. 

The pond has no animals to swim in its glory.

Loud and noisy

the 8th grade jury had taken over the partially empty classroom

with nothing to do

no work

(it was the second day after Thanksgiving break)

playing cards dancing through the air

Walking to the path unknown 
I hold unto the universe I knew 
But eventually I knew soon I have to let go 
For every weight in my hand has to fly away

Tears

for this show

for this character I love more than

any

             freaking

Over and over the ride awaits

A carriage good and sound

A go, to go, forego, we go

and now the round spins!--

tilts on it's axis no more or,

freeform expression a painting perhaps

I am tenacious,

I prevail.

Though the dark void surrounds me, I ignite a fire inside and shine.

Yet - shadows grip me in their hands.

Flame, rage, and anger consumed, ashes I become.

the east is enveloped in blue dark

the plane that carries you

diving into the abyss 

while the west appears to be engulfed in flames

a simple view from the deck

of a slow moving boat 

Acts of love are defined as any gesture, action, or behavior that shows care, affection, and kindness toward another person.

Some big and grand

Some small, nameless, unnoticed

Feet in thick socks 

Shuffle through the halls 

And across the kitchen floor 

Hands reach into cupboards 

Rearranging and putting away

Mugs 

And plates

We all push ourselves for something

we push

          for achievement

          for recognition

          for forgiveness

i don’t seem to write much anymore.

Maybe it's because at one point the music got turned up real loud,

didn’t like the thoughts in my head,

the noise of the world.