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.

animals, creative writing, Fantasy, nature, poetry

Quick Sand

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…

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, Fantasy, poetry

Mysterious Company

 

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.

creative writing, love, poetry, Romance

Littlest Valentine

 

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.

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, Fantasy, poetry

Deception

Dragon breathe in strengthened skin, magic purest from the soul within,

Deep blue Scales of ice tie claws of sin, heart rant pain from furtive gin.

Bone of steel holds blood of iron, demon’s curse keeps fire held by andiron,

Thy beast of depth not seen by eye, yet spirit felt shall make infants cry.

Caged in the tomb chain by prayers, in idol wait for sworn slayer,

Screams of fallen whom taxed and failed, by merely a glance or sound in air.

Here comes woman as knight with arm bared, with beauty mind beneath silver hair,

Asked by the town to extinguish foe, for jewels and riches like river flow.

Yet she says not to coins and jewels with hidden pride, yet for love and revenge shall she ride,

In to the dark where fate is unknown, yet a book from thy cave will be her atone.

Secret texts which depths she knows of her own, foolish residents know not thy precious tome,

Yet she’ll be the one who defeats the beast, then pluck from its maw this tasty feast.

The knowledge she’s searched for, sense the day of pain she thought was at death’s door,

The cursed gin who took her son, and trapped him in this cage out the sun.

Through the forests she slinks, like the mythological sphinx,

In to the mountain she creeps, quiet as the serpent’s sneak.

Yet the silence is for not, for the beast has quickly caught,

The fragrance of his loved one, who he was told he had lost.

Here is the Knight of beauty versus the beast of the land, tricked by the devils malevolent hand,

Will we ever not fall victim, to the words and deceptions of other men?

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…

addiction, creative writing, Life skills, poetry, psychology, recovery, sociology

Murderous Trinities

It is the murderous trinities of sex, drugs, and Hennessy, that in born enemy turning friends to frenemies

Yet we still have the tendency to live with the penalty, life torn calamity in pleasurable insanity.

Yet it’s the toxic necessity taking longevity, the fantasy calling you away from humanity,

The purest of souls can fall in to insanity, forsaking all ties for this new found family.

They run the streets insane for a flask in the brain, or a shot to the arm for a smile forlorn,

Or for One bottle of pain to dry the mind in rain, or in the needle in their arms to patch a heart just torn.

Seeking that solace in a self-guarded palace, with the poison in your chalice to hide from malice,

Yet found departed unaware in a household stair, dabbing away tears of a future unclear.

It’s Corruption that turns the malevolent soul, when our faith and hopes are ice cold,

Heart now gone black mold, these poetic lyrics will become illustrations of that searing soul.

Speak truth from these pens in hopes pain does end, for the trinity that lends aid in these last moments.

We can Just Hope our words lead them from the dark, when they hear those immoral horn men.

Because they hear their footsteps crepitating, weak spirits start anticipating,

That this action may free them far from that pain that lies in them ventilating.

The compulsion playing with durability, that fantasy calling one away from the family,

An innate calamity deep in medicated insanity, hung on elements against humanity.

Christian appendix added to a faithful witness, savior’s voices could become lost after a jail sentence,

Can repentance be found in faithful defense, when religious factions have no moral sense?

They are all in slaved, and shall always be slaved,

When narcotics breathe madness in to souls of self-doubt.

These streets bleed attics and decrepit beings, animal and human alike,

Pharmaceutical scandals scar your beautiful child, hooking lustful emissions from their life.

The innocent victims of life battle a sky felt, but not seen or heard through demented trinities,

The purest joys of drugs, alcohol, and finance, dance with songs of lust, pain, and anxiety.

Division is supremacy if one severs and devours, serrate the mind to segregate the power,

Keep them hoping and rebelling for a star that they see, but will always be grounded by gravity.

It is an ugly truth, that people wish to turn blind to not see,

That those pleasures found in fun, can also be murderous trinities.

Arts, Life skills, poetry, politics

Social Ghost

Social slavery are one’s to be, one trapped in a social media mentality,

With Hopes to see the next viral calamity, and get high off of negative psychology.

Group think sociology blocks one’s decency, Just for personal credibility,

To give words from enemies, or love from virtual personalities.

Controversy from apparition’s posts, are social gangstas with word boasts,

Digitally cybernetic ammo hosts, with clout from other lesser known ghost.

Verbal chat warrior quotes, are  just cyber bullies looking to do the most,

And watch you sink mentaly, on a computer generated coast.

that delusionary ocean grave, is one’s own dungeon enchained made,

because we must fasten our minds slaved, in to this social media cave.

Can one be demoralize from a wraith, not hear in a physical space,

Just ask the child dead by digital cuts, arms bloody, neck tied from a virtual haze.

That suicidal teen on the outside of social means,

a bright minded gleam, extinguished by socially evocative keens.

These social slaves put the guns in their mouths, And the pills in their hands,

And smile to their peer pressure clan, not caring for the damage caused to their fellow man.

By man I mean child, killed by social media bile,

From once called friend, yet now heart darkened by differing social styles.

They are just long faded memories, who are we to listen to passed graves,

My social media is popping, I can get 5 likes for showing an addics dejected days.

One needs the recognition, and craves that attention high,

No matter if one is in preschool, or even a president online.