creative writing, love, poetry, Romance

Social Norm

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.

creative writing, entertainment, Music, poetry

I’m Afraid of Music

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.

Arts, creative writing, equality, government, politics, social problems, sociology

SPLIT!!!

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.

Arts, creative writing, equality, poetry, psychology, social problems, sociology

Hidden Minds

A wide open window yet with everlasting blinds, a faint trace of light locked in the veiled mind,

Darkness dances with dirt lost in time, whilst regrets bathe clean hopeful thoughts for the divine.

Those secrets locked behind private lips, avoiding purest notions of demonic decline,

Close doors hide truths, confused lives cannot yet define.

Yet empowered is the one who will rise amongst the rest, clothed in the armor of pride not stressed,

By opinions of others who tare self-esteem with their edges of jest, sharpen by what they think is best.

Because at the end of this path is a golden crest, if one soldier cannot but chance the quest,

To bring secrets of some to the front of the nest, and face suicidal assaults with just merely a vest.

For this world has jewels in hands of fools, with closed minds too focused on olden rules,

Equipped with religious tools and social pools, one would not splash within for fear of ghouls.

That tell them designs birthed in the past, when vestiges of bones breathed life not gas,

Will we ever be free from that religious mask, that hides behind untouchable glass?

Monopolizing the principles of nations and countries, throughout loved ones and friends,

Who live by deified customs, engraved deep in women and men?

Panicking innocent citizens, who just want to be free again?

And not be judged by their poverty or sexuality, nor the color of their skin…