The Race is…


The race is
Going to the store
Seeing different colored cards
Being used by friends
Wanting one so badly
Hating life

The race is
Told by a pretty blonde
She knows her husband is
Bigger, stronger, faster
And better
Despite popular belief
The cause is her effect

The race is
Swearing children don’t imitate
Their atmosphere
Until words are spoken
at the wrong time
wants to blame the school
and sue

The race is
Seeking solace from church
And the Bible
Remembering only what
Is necessary
To shine light
On what is dark

The race is
Voting in a sheet covered
Small box with a drawstring
while choices are made on beliefs
Not righteousness
With all eyes in the back
the print on the page
is overlooked

The race is
known for Right versus Wrong
dying to be a martyr
never waivering
until

I died Again


I died Again.

I died again
Last night
And then, Again
Today
Every time I close my eyes
I can’t see
until I open them
Again
And then
I don’t want to
I don’t want to have to
imagine what life would be
could be
without the use of my hands,
Legs, feet, tongue, ears
minus the butterflies inside my head
Minus what they call a brain
I don’t want to be insane
But, I can’t keep my eyes
still

The Church of Mercy


Show me again

How we do it

Do I have to be under covers

or is it something I can share

with my brothers

Show me again

How we do it

 

I may dress the same

as they do

Or maybe I just hold the chalice

better for You

Oh, the things I hold

 

Reading as You talk aloud

I get a sense of urgency

to be proud

Such a sensation

Comes over me

Until a face turns and gives me pity

 

Show me again

How we do it

 

Your word is Your bond

and of that, I’m quite fond

To know that I should know better

when Your voices becomes

an “I Love You” letter

Never will I divulge my secret crush

Hush.

 

So, Show Me again

What made You do this to me

 

Was it the air I breathed

when You walked by

Did my subservience entice You

and fixate Your eyes on the sky?

How many times did I

touch Your robe

Before we made plans

to see the golden globe?

 

But, in time, I’ll be on my own

Trying to establish a name

from which I’ve grown

And Anaphora will keep haunting me

in ways that it could only be

Show Me again

what made You do this to me

 

Show Me again

so I can have my one true friend

Retribute


I wasn’t born by a river,
no crow could say he waited nearby
for me to lay down or stop,
no bird to not welcome me a good morning
with an annoying but sweet song,
no man to ever say he got the best of me without me demanding that I was king,
no pastor, or rabbi, or preacher to not see my light before speaking their sins to me.

I wasn’t born by a river,
but I could get to one
and bottle all my troubles and let them drift away and pick them up on the otherside.

Through the eyes of a child


Here I Am
Looking and noticing
All that is in my path
What does time change?
Even with repair
Things do wither
Yet, they still change
My younger self
Wishes to grow
While wishing to know
That I will see
The happiness and love
That made me laugh
And glow
And may what or who looks
Out at me, someday 
Pick me up like I cried in hunger
Or writhed in my drench
Shelter me with just a smile 
A while 
To remind me

Dreams


 

image

             
My dream has come
And stayed with me
Through everything
I have wanted
To be wanted
Needed never                                 
What we can do
no others can
Each year you get older
I hope you have dreams, too
with me in them
directing you
caring for you                                     Caring with you
Showing you love
Be it in a candle
so flickering
Growing brighter
or just a flame
Never changing
Each year you get older
Let your dreams come to life
And know that I am here

Is This Not The Most Fascinating Life Line In The World?


What is going on with this palm?

Who has ever seen a heart-line and life-line joined together like this?

What does it all mean, seriously? Many say that “Life is what You make it.” Seriously?! Do we really have control over our own destinies? I know this seems like just a series of questions. But, can anyone tell anything about this individual just from a palm reading? How fascinating to have a palm that distinguishes You from everyone else.

Maybe Guinness should take a look at what could be “The Most Extraordinary Hand In The World.”

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Sunday Morning Blues in a Hat


She changed everything

About her self

For a man that was

Beneath her

 

Eclectic this

Once Bohemian that

Who could believe her newfound bliss

(Underneath) And her Sunday morning hat

 

What a life she has made

That is not her own

Now always seeking shade

Away from the heart and soul she grown

 

But Sunday morning

Only comes once a week

Six other days worth of scorning

From a carefully twisted tongue that won’t let her speak

 

Look at her Sunday morning blues

 

If she wanted to cabaret

All day, twirl and play

Finding the will to say

Is too much, so she chooses to pray for a better day and stay

 

She wears her Sunday morning hat

So the sky doesn’t see her look up

Unable to clean her feet on her own welcome mat

Horoscope reads like an upside down fortune cup

 

Everyday, she says hello to her Sunday morning blues

Looking for clues

Hiding from the Who Whos

Before they recognize a new bruise

 

Such a pretty Sunday morning blue hat