Hope to live,
Live to die.
Love to stay,
And stay to cry.
Sigh your last,
But never pretend,
To hope that hope,
To live again.
I remember.I remember the last time I saw you.
You lay alone on the vast hotel bed with a tube snaked around your head pumping oxygen through your nose. The machine made a sound like the ocean: smooth and even. You looked like pile of bones with skin attached and a tumor in the middle. I stood between your sister, sleeping peacefully on the couch, and you in the grand bed which I had lain in beside you just five minutes before. I stared, so wanting to walk over and shake you awake to say goodbye. It's the last time I'll ever see you. But you were so weak, and you could barely sit upright the night before. I wanted to let you enjoy your dreams while you could. I wondered if you would wake later that day and think, She left without a word.
Because that's what I was thinking.
I felt my face twist into pain. Eyebrows curled upward, lips pouting. An expression soon to become familiar on my face. I wondered if your sister was awake. I didn't want to sound ridiculous, talking to a sleeping girl,
Words Never SpokenWe all stood up to say goodbye to Anna Lee. As we did, I finally saw my chance to break away and see you. I looked toward the front of the room. You lay there, your face above the lip of the white casket. Pale and thin, but just as I had last seen you. My throat was tight. I didn't want to talk anymore with your other friends who I had just met a few weeks ago. You were the one I came to see. So as they were all turned, I walked up behind the old couple in front of you. They moved away after a moment and I got a clear view of you.
You looked like you were only sleeping. Last year, you were so plump and full of life, but laying here, your face was thin, cheekbones sticking out, eyes sunken, and your hands... Your hands were at just the wrong angle. There were bruises on your fingers. Did you notice? Where did you get those? I wanted to touch you. I wanted to talk to you. You looked as if you were about to sit up and say, "Boo!" because that's exactly what you would do. I couldn't believ
A new friend? Amateur..."Alright then, I'm sticking to you like glue!" The idiot said.
Are you wondering what just happened? Let me explain.
I was lounging on a dark night in the local park, where there were few people. It was about 2:47 or so, and I was enjoying the breeze. But then I heard footsteps. I thought about going limp and pretending I was asleep, but, for some reason, I lifted up my head. I was actually hoping to see a beautiful young lady who might be running from a sex offender, and maybe I'd save her and have a snack.
What I saw was not running from a sex offender, it was not a lady, and it was definitely not beautiful. My neck settled into a normal position, and I found myself nose-to-nose with a stupid-looking blond haired boy. His hair was obviously bleached -- and badly done at that. His eyes were wide and quizzical, shining with wonder. The worst part was the moment he opened his mouth.
"Are you a vampire?" He asked hesitantly. There was a long silence between us. Why not just say it?
Peacemaker My name is Peacemaker. I have no gender, and I have no race. I do not take a democrat or republican side of politics, and I look at things from every angle I can. My history is lost, and my future is unpredicted.
Many people come to me every day and ask for help. They all have problems they need assistance to take on. I give them the advice they seek, and they are on their way. Many of these people called me wise. A few have told me I was "perfect" or "flawless".
That is not true.
If I have one flaw, it is that I cannot take my own advice. If a friend and I argue, the terrible, hard reality comes crashing into me like a raving river.
The question is: what happens when I, the Peacemaker, can no longer make peace?
InamimateI find more love in inanimate objects than in living people.
It's a strange feeling.
It's almost sad.
The pajama top that I took off wrapped it's arms around me, as if it were hugging me and keeping me warm.
The teddy bear I hug is leaning against my chest, as if it were saying to me, "I need you."
The radio at my side is softly playing me my favorite songs, as if it were singing a lullaby to me.
Sometimes it's not enough.
Because after a while, the pajama top is just a shirt.
Because after a while, the teddy bear is just a doll.
Because after a while, the radio is just a device to be controlled.
Because after a while, you need a real voice.
And somewhere in the world, someone will make it all better without doing a thing.
Even though, I find more love in inanimate objects than in real people.
Because I am not that familiar with the latter.
I'll be...I'll be green, I'll be blue,
I'll be anything just to get to talk to you.
I'll be high, I'll be low,
I just wanna know
How you feel, and everything else.
I'll be goth, I'll be prep
If I just take a step
to being closer to you.
All I want...
Most people can...Most people can sing the ABCs.
Few can sing an Opera.
Most people can dance the Hokey Pokey.
Few can dance the Nutcracker Ballet.
Most people can read off a few lines.
Few people can make you believe their actually Romeo or Juliet.
Most people can aim a camera.
Few can capture the emotion and feeling.
Most people can draw a stick figure.
Few people can actually draw a person.
Most people can draw a triangle.
Few people can really paint a mountain.
Most people can do this.
You can do more.
Rainbow SongListen to him singing the song to me.
Listen to him singing --
Listen to beauty and love as he sings,
Yes, listen to him...
Look at me listening to his love song.
Look at me breaking his frail heart.
Love is a sensitive thing from the start.
Yes, look at me.
This is so nice.
So majestic and I'm
His heart shatters
In my hands.
Soak my life again.
Listen to him singing the song to me.
Listen to him singing --
Listen to beauty and love as he sings,
Yes, listen to him...
?.:-LOVE-:.?Love is like a jacket.
When it catches your eye, you try it on, and look for the right size.
You take it home and wear it and show it off.
It covers you and keeps you warm.
For a while it really interests you, and you pay a lot of attention to it.
But after a while, it doesn't interest you as much, but it's a part of your daily life.
Soon, it wears out, and doesn't always keep you warm in strong winds.
It thins and grows holes.
Sometimes, the holes are convenient.
Sometimes, you patch it up.
Sometimes, it just gapes.
Eventually, you sell it, or throw it away.
Sooner or later, you get a new jacket.
You forget about that old jacket.
And that's the end of the jacket.
And that's the end of love.
Stunning, the message
Outrageous to the knowing
Superb, the technique
Hilarious to the informed
Master of his Art
ma merei think my mother thinks i'm blind,
that i see only my own faults
and forget the fractures in her composure,
the fissures in her failing heart
that keep her awake at night.
i fear she thinks i do not see the strength in her scars.
i think my mother thinks i'm deaf,
that i cannot hear her silent sadness;
it has always echoed
in the halls of this family home.
maybe she thinks i do not hear the wisdom in her words.
i think my mother thinks i'm numb,
that i do not feel
the eternal love in every touch;
i know with absolute certainty
that no one
will ever love me
like my mother does.
every hug is a blessing that brings me home.
but maybe, my mother has it twisted.
i'd do anything for her to see the beauty in being faulted,
to know she hears me when i say 'i love you',
and be assured she feels my heart when i hug her back.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
waters worry the pristine
sand, washing blank paper
into a bevy of tidepools.
The hush of the surge whispers
its song into conch shells;
the tinge of brine mingles
with coconut milk and dried
seaweed clumping the beach.
Hermit crabs dot the strand
like constellations, waiting
for soothsayers to read meaning
into their trails before the waves
wash them away like comets.
TakenIt was just a strategic readjustment.
It was just a necessary tactical move.
It was just your finger moving half an inch left
and curling slightly.
It was just the centimeter or two of difference
between the moment that just was,
and the one that is,
but you reached for my hand
and you took my heart.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
powerless, and reaching."He's the kind of person
who tells me to 'cheer up'
when I'm depressed,"
he says, scoffing,
and I shake my head
"What a useless comment."
He chuckles, agrees,
but I keep thinking about
about all the "cheer up"s
and "just be happy"s
he's heard in his life.
I want to say "cheer up,"
I want my words to magically
cure him, heal him,
crush his depression
in a way that no pills ever could,
but I know it doesn't work like that.
Happiness is not an item
to be obtained with quarters
it is not a country to travel to
in airplanes and sailboats.
Happiness is a change in the wind,
a flicker from east to west
that cannot be upheld permanently.
For him, it is a road
blocked by people who roll their eyes
and tell him to get over himself.
When I wrap my arms around him,
he laughs again,
sinks into my body.
I think about hollow rooms,
sound echoing off the walls.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.