Words

Sometimes when you read a verse
The words hit your soul hard
They make you wonder all night
“How can someone fabricate such a piece of art?”

The feeling each syllable holds
Gets carved into your heart
Words inspiring you to weave some of your own
Which might cause the ordinary populace to feel your warmth

With excitement flooding
You pick the quill only to wonder
Would your quill succeed in
Re-creating the magic
You recently witnessed?

You drop the quill
Not because of self-doubt
But because you just know
That some magic tricks only belong
With svelte magicians
And sometimes you yield sweet joy
In being touched by others
Just witnessing greatness…

Pessimism

A pit that will drown you is Pessimism

Those with glass houses occupying 10,000 acres

Of land are often found saying

A pit that is self-immolating

It can kill; make you struggle hard for breath

That is what Duncan, my next door neighbor

A life coach preaches

But for me it is the reality

The only thing seeming right in

This world quite wrong

Sanguinity might be beautiful but is unrealistic

Vineyards with grapes ripened and juicy

Mock my very existence, reminding me of

Felicity that I could possibly not conquer

Prima donnas , dressed like Monroe

Riding in their Porsche

Who prefer Sinatra’s ‘Fly me to the Moon’

Over ‘Only the Lonely’

Who speak of happiness and all things optimistic

When their souls are broken beyond repair

Contained with mercenary that wise don’t own

Hypocrisy flows through their demeanor (odium intended)

I for one cannot be colored

When my existence reminds only of blackness

If the touch of sunlight on my bare arms

Does not give me peace

Why should I pretend to be serene?

Why should I hide these dark

And morbid thoughts that turn into ink

Filling pages and pages

Covering the pages with fancy prose

Following inappropriate juxtaposition

Jeopardy it is as a few ignorant scholars

Tend to overlook these pages

Pages tattered like my soul

Highly contentious these words are considered

By those whose wisdom is shallow

Silence succumbs, making me

Wonder how terribly might speech

Sabotage their paradigm image

But these fancy unstitched stanzas

Sometimes free sometimes blank poetry

Unpolished proses bear the harsh truth

That this heart holds