ALMOST EVERY NIGHT

I wonder what’s happening tonight 

I wonder what’s happening tonight

Are the rebels putting up a good fight

Are they screaming into the dark night

Is somebody feeling the pain

Do they wish they’d not screamed out the name

Would she lie for the brunt of the blame

Or a shout, a push, tail-turn, then fame

I wonder what’s happening tonight 

I wonder what’s happening tonight

Are the protestors left, doing right

Putting back up what’s left of the fight

Are the cops smashing down the oppressed

Are they confident their ways are best

Has the one who began it confessed

Does he think that she’s being a pest

Is there hatred and ill will

Is curfew only in films 

I wonder if it happens until

they all hope that it’s happening still

Is there a one lane bridge around here 

Are they fed on lies and fear

Is the end of this fight drawing near

Isn’t life elementary, dear

I wonder what’s happening here 

I wonder what’s happening here

Would my best comrade teach me to shout

Would an oracle dream help me out

Is in their minds a shadow of doubt

And how many want a cop out?

Run, run, run-

As far as you can,

Escape, little one,

Deep across the land;

Far from the voices,

At least the ones outside,

It all depends upon your choices,

Just hope I've never lied;

Away from their pity,

Condescending and cruel,

That filth-filled city,

Where everyone's just another's tool;

So run, run, run-

Far, far away,

For surely you know

That distance'll never truly stay. 

So I wrote this poem when I was in like 2nd grade, here it is.

Bike Ride

Wind blowing in my face,

pedaling with gentle grace

How have I gotten this far, I don't know,

but now it's time for me to go slow

Getting tired, almost time to stop,

don't ride in the puddles, or I'll go PLOP!

Back at home, let's take a rest, 

but on my bike, I did my best. 

ode to the song I used to love

thank you for showing me that even when your river in my mind is long dried away,

the banks still remain to carry your twisting beautiful path

and maybe I'll always know all of the words

thank you for teaching me to appreciate the aftertaste of your lyrics on my tongue

blossoming flowerbuds opening into another time

thank you for arriving exactly when you need to--

soaring notes like a yellow leaf in the wind, swirling to a stop to alight in my palm,

mottled brown from having been apart from my tree for too long, but

if I like you enough, perhaps I'll take you home,

tuck you carefully away to be rediscovered later. 

Fallen poem

A new start,

A new end,

A new patch of clean skin,

A new scrape to ruin it,

A new escape,

It won’t last,

Break my mind,

Just like glass,

Fallen hearts,

And fallen stones,

Written words hurt,

And heal like those,

That come from the mouth,

Of any other person,

Fallen people,

Just like any other,

Fallen youth,

Hurt by those close to them,

Falling,

Fallen,

At last we can rest,

Soon enough,

They’ll be laid to rest,

Hurt by people,

They thought they knew,

Fallen people,

Fallen youth.

Walking in the Cemetery

Everything is quiet

Barely any cars

On a quiet morning

I go up the hill

Decide to explore

Take the narrower paths

To the older graves

Gravestones with no shine

Spotted with lichen

Plaques on the ground partially covered

With moss, dirt and grass

Thin grave markers

Leaning forward, backward, sideways

Weathered with age

I go higher and deeper

Everything Is quiet and peaceful

The only sounds are my flip flops 

Slapping the pavement

Like high heels on a wood floor

Click, Clack, Click, Clack

My dog’s paw nails

Scrabbling against the rough ground

Scritch, Scratch, Scritch, Scratch 

The sound of his panting

In the cool spring air

His nostrils quivering in the wind

And the singing of the birds

Tweet, Twitter, Chirp

All these sounds

Blend in to the quiet

So perfectly like a song

Comforting me

Any other sound

Even the crunch of dry dead leaves beneath me feet

Seems out of place, to loud

Like a jackhammer in a city alley at night

For context, I live very close to a not-at-all-creepy cemetery, and the main road is under construction, so I take my dog to the cemetery every day. 

You, a star,

and I, as I am.

What is it that makes

us so different?

Is it because of the way

You shine so bright? Or

does it have something

to do with

how you dance and glmmer,

but never spark out? Or 

is it for

your insatiable hunger

that will lead to a

fiery implosion? Or,

perhaps, is it because of

the fact that you, as a

star will never,

never,

simply just lower yourself,

gently, of your own

accord or volition, instead

Tumbling down,

towards the ground,

for you were, in fact,

but a glimpse of 

Starlight. 

What is Eternal to Me:

~~~~~~~~~~

Why do I say 

that

I am lost, 

you ask;

Why would I say such a thing,

I wonder.

Perhaps I am not lost, 

just directionless;

As a leaf writhing, spiralling

down on the ruthless autumn wind,

seemingly forever but over far too soon, 

or like the sound of bainsi's keening,

resounding o'er the crisp dull air against

crashing flows that endlessly berate the cliffs.

Perhaps I am truly

lost, 

soon to the rises and ebbs

of time, 

forgotten soon, yet not quite soon enough. 

For I am

but a moth, perpetually chasing

that glimmering moonbeam through the 

foliage;

The traveler

wandering, seeking out

the voice just ahead, just a few steps

farther;

eternally .

I wrote this about the writing process I go through, so if it doesn't make any sense, that's why. Feel free to leave tips! I haven't written any poetry in a couple of years, so I'm a bit rusty.

The scratch of a pen,

the tap, tap, tap of my fingers,

common noises all around, 

covering me like a blanket.

I look around and try to think,

I need an idea,

I need to be free. 

What inspiration can I see?

And what I can't. 

Finally, finally,

I look down at my white canvas,

it streches across the land,

and I begin to write. 

Inky blackness dripping down,

oozing across the page.

Ideas flow like water,

running off a cliff,

and I sigh and smile,

knowing I'll be alright. 

At times I stare,

eyes wide,

into the sky.

See the stars,

the clouds.

See eternity.

And sometimes,

I wonder

if it is all

my reflection. 

I am human,

as are we all.

Convuluted messes,

we humans are.

Dancing in chaos,

it surrounds us,

we are it.

They say there is order 

in chaos,

I say no.

We are chaos.

Be chaos.

Love chaos. 

Love us.

See our Father,

when we look.

Look up,

from the chaos,

love the children,

for we,

the children,

are chaos,

are human.

As am I.