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.

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…