She sees pictures on dark walls, of times that she can’t dissolve,
Reflections of an echoed past, that evening that happened so fast.
The fault was not you nor I, yet you chose your grave to hide,
A death to the nights we shared, from the tears we bared,
Because we were scared, of the choice we declared.
Sometimes I still see her face you know, in the moon lights glow,
Reflections of your soul, shining on the tear drops of my pillow.
On that sunny day in May, or when the autumn leaves turn gray,
Shouting with such Boisterous gay, our families were dismayed.
I’ve filled this poem with words, that look bright tonight,
I’m older with youth, giving them the love we had those nights,
When I stepped in to the future, and you rose to a new height.
I keep in silence as a lamb, as cursed I am, another broken dam,
Force to drift through uncharted seas, and through forest filled lands
Yet in my heart lies this quest, birth from our turmoil and stress,
To prove this sexuality is a vest, honed from our loves laments.
So let loose this bitch for war, let the courage of women soar,
In this time of scorn, lives hate for what isn’t a social norm.
Beautiful day cross-country, mind open to the sky,
Birds warble songs for nature, woodland creatures forage to survive.
Earlier watery freshly shed droplets, course down one’s fur a new,
Pastures held to one’s hooves, as we saunter aimlessly through.
Eyes engrossed forward at family grazing, it’s a captivating vision of tranquility,
My little fawn tracks toward me, tranquil purity for her safety.
Curiosity of my being here, happy to run up and play,
Never seeing a two leg deer, ignoring the dangers of pray.
Sound rings out in the warmth, and the baby deer stops,
Sinking to her knees, red rain from her starts to drop.
My Eyes tear up, one can see she’s in pain,
She starts moving forward, pleading looks after her, bang!
I’m running now frantic, must see, must see what is wrong,
My tiny one is hurt, she is just a petite innocent fawn.
That white being on two legs, will surely help her out,
That black being holding the stick behind it, is dancing all about.
My fawn is raining red, what is the happiness for,
I must get to her and help, as my beater sinks to the meadow floor.
My back hooves launch me onward, no in truth they stay still,
Because what I see next, is truly unreal.
My darling fawn kicks out, knocking the white being down,
My thinker is racing, as she jumps to the ground.
She scampers right for me, and my beater gets faster,
Baby fawn runs back to our flock, avoiding disaster.
Yet white being comes towards me, seemly aggrieved?
And it starts to get smaller, first her hooves then his knees?
That’s his waste, and now her chest,
Truly what is happening should I save it, or what’s left?
Black being is not dancing, it has dropped its loud stick,
He is running for white being, why does it look like she’s sick.
Launching forward from dirt, I grab white being with my teeth,
My hooves can’t find purchase, and they start to sink?
Feelings of pulling, clutching me from the back,
My hooves stop sinking, as my strength starts to task.
I’m making progress with white being,
There’s the waste, knees, and hooves?
It has emerged from the dirt, and it is grabbing its hooves?
Running to the black being, they embrace, and I hear laughter.
The loud stick sinks in the ground, guess no more here after.
Silly fawn, strange white and black being,
I run back to the flock, and start my own feeding.
Why did they choose to play near the ground Predator?
It never stops its eating…
I’m afraid of music, or what hellish parody it’s become,
The image of stars has darkened, darken one’s imaginings of fun.
Musicians have become scandalized, from abuse, violence, and disgrace,
Money and power takes presents, of those once Platonic days.
The string guitar is a noose, the drum and base are non-medicated drugs,
Voices are hyperventilation, I’m being raped by the thought of what was.
Demonic life illustrations, over obnoxious acoustic and electronic trilogies,
Take the place of Thought provoking lyricism, above expressive hypnotic melodies.
I once found security as a child, in their words and their seductive songs,
Musical illustrations helped me battle, through cancer and sickness, when the nights were long.
Is it wrong to choose disease, over these once spell bounded tympani’s?
Or wait for a day of relief, where the love will come back to me?
Intoxicated hallucinations, bring and hold a semblance of harmony,
Then I tolerate those once peaceful enjoyments that are now violating non-realities.
Whether if it is Molly or Drake, or if it is Blink or Green,
Alliteration’s of M.J., now scare me with the dearest limericks of Kelly.
Can true wisdom tell the difference, over a painful foolish resemblance?
Is my pretentious phobia curable, if I embrace this toxic ignorance?
While they recite phenomena, out of their satirical lyric tunes,
Acidic verbal nonsense, gets heard from our rational views.
I’m afraid of music, or what concepts it’s inspired,
Thoughts of giving up my talent, light my ambitions on fire.
Call me a coward, say I’m terrified of nothing,
Yet has times ever become dark, and music made that depression cutting?
Am I alone in belief that the world’s music, had better for us and our loved ones?
Than hearing drummer boys rock from their flocks on the streets of their trap funds.
They Talk gun clapping over auto tune beats, but real culture takes it and puts it in to reality,
The first reason I’m afraid of music, what it is doing to the community.
They preach inspiration from intoxication, melodious narcotic creativity,
The second reason I’m afraid of music, endorsing tranquillized abnormalities.
I wish this phobia was void, and there was not any reason to fret,
The third reason I’m afraid of music, I can do nothing to change it.
He sits alone, inn his own mind, in her own home,
And they wonder why they’re so prone, to suffer through things alone.
They said that she was crazy, they said that he was a bum,
Is the family naive, or are they just the only ones.
Feel the cold of his hands, look deeply in to her eyes,
Behind the darkness of his shades, beneath the warmth of her lies.
They are cold blooded vipers, bathed in hatred, and drown by pride,
They love it when she rises, but they cower when he looks in to their minds.
She wants to do right, the fire in him burns to do wrong,
She’s a snake, he’s a lion, they the conniving pawns.
They are leaders one moment, and followers in the next,
Parents pull their kids away from her, because he will stab them in the back.
She learns your worse dreams, he talks to your foes,
Your enemies divulge information that they use to grow.
Who is she, is he a liar, are they your friend or no,
Is she a fiend, is he a cherub, will we ever know?
Well, one things for certain, and two things for sure,
When you find out who she really is, you’ll hate him, or love them, for sure.
Take your time little child, There’s a heaven for you and I,
Let one’s dreams be full of peace, Go to sleep love of mine.
When thy wakes an opens their eyes, you’ll see stars that gloss,
Waxing and waning with the times, to observe their beauty hasn’t a cost.
Let me be shelter, if you call, I cannot be there any faster.
Where there maybe Fumbling in life, I’ll be there to bring focus to disaster.
When you feel as though you’re blind, one can reach for the right side,
Through your hurt little guy, I’ll continually be your northern guide.
Take that time tiny lady, and you’ll be as strong as one desires,
And when the war gets tough for others, you will still fight the fire.
Golden locks or black strains, for each child alive,
In a world of uncertainty, Ares is near, no need to hide.
You’re what you say you are, not what they tout you to be,
You are the beauty in the mirror, the angel’s reflection in the water by the sea.
The spring time breeze on a pleasant day, the ocean wave’s pinnacle on a blue bay,
The sunny backdrop to the sky, during your first birth day.
You are our heart of the body, genius of our minds,
The blessed soul of the religious, the goodness of the kind.
You may call it art, your picture in my vision that is shade,
Yet it is one that I have no problem seeing, until the end of my days.
I’ll take the years of ignorance and foolishness, in my hands with love,
Put one’s hope in my hands, and I’ll cherish it like the sky from above.
My tears flow down on one knee, your innocence is my divine,
This is a simple elegy I created, for you and your littlest valentine.
Split at the seams there’s a line between, the justified and wrong, the capitalists and the fiend.
Citizens can be perceive, as Americans in the dream, but one is an addict, while the other’s star beams.
What makes the serration, in this divided States nation?
A democrat or republican, independent or an unknown corrugation.
Is it wealth against shortage, golden platters versus porridge?
Should one care about the problem, or does one choose to ignore it?
It used to be black and white, now we serrate by the class,
While the lower and middle class struggle, those in the upper classes laugh.
Millionaires and billionaires ride yachts, prostitutes sell hots,
Gangsters bang on the block, farmers crops rot.
There are not homeless people in Chicago, about to freeze to the death,
We peasants should not complain, SSI and welfare are cutting checks.
For we all eat like the Hannity’s, there is no sorrow, no poor,
This country is truly equal, none of us see eviction letters on doors.
There’s an economic segregation, we can’t just turn our eyes away,
While the government shuts down, politics tell citizens eat cake.
Watch the waitress on shift, make a mistake and get dismissed,
While reps and senators sit in a room, make mistakes and get cuffed on the wrist.
Is it equal to tax, those who eat scraps, and sell clothes off their back?
While other’s benefits wax, and they grow more affluent by the max.
Well we present the expression of grief birthed in the weak, with stanzas written in bloody ink,
Samaritans weep for a bite to eat, watch these native’s gamble defeat for a rise in prosperity.
Hear tales of those sheep hunted wolves of the streets, counseling success over ghetto beats,
For a one in a million family to not weep, risen too high from low class scarcities.