An Angel and Devil

I’ve always wondered,
Can someone be both
An Angel and Devil?
I know someone who’s an angel,
He certainly doesn’t look like one,
He’s a kin
Who teaches me a violin,
He helps me at least a dozen times a day
And even taught me to solve a Rubix Cube.

I know someone who’s a devil,
He really does look like one sometimes to me,
He gets on my nerves,
Annoys me until I get angry,
Gives me the nastiest stink eye.
He even kicked me out of a Google Doc.

I know someone who’s both an angel and devil.
He changes all the time.
Sometimes he’s in a good mood
And makes us both laugh.
Sometimes he’s just a devil
With a dreadful personality
Who is rude and abusive.

When he’s a devil,
He raises his voice,
He glares at me,
Makes himself the wolf
And creates me into a deer.

When he’s an angel,
He shares things with me,
We build things together,
And makes me think,
I have the best brother.

Ice Cream

My family started eating,
My mom came back from reading.
She says she doesn’t want to eat
And just takes her seat.

My mom goes to the refrigerator,
Asks What’s greater
Than Ice Cream?

I don’t know, I respond.
But what if it’s made of a pond?
Wish you can have it,
At least a bit.

I watch her take the first bite,
Ignoring the bright light.
I don’t want it,
Not even a bit.

Ice Cream.
A gas string of cold steam.
Ice Cream.
Sometimes a person’s dream.

Ice Cream,
Ice cream.
Just one simple
Ice cream.

Ice Cream.
There’s no theme,
No purpose,
I won’t eat it.

Ice Cream.
All right, I’ll eat it.
Just a little,
I think it’ll
Be fine.

The Beach

The Beach

A peaceful place,
Where the fresh ocean breeze hits the rocky sand,
Where the beautiful, blue waves hit your hand,
Where the steamy sand
Soothes your soft skin,
Where you can escape from your thoughts,
And you can see,
What others cannot see,
Where you can feel,
What others cannot feel.
When you can be
Who you want to be,
Where you can think of things
Other people cannot think.
The Beach.

Rise

Rise
One appointment.
She was one appointment away from pushing her passion to astonishing levels.
One dancer.
One dream.
One diagnosis.
One heart broken.

They started with a surgery,
Closely followed by crutches and P.T.
But the thing that broke her,
Pushed her into mind-numbing despair,
Were the words.
Condemning her,
Taunting her.
“You can’t dance.”
“Can’t run.”
“Can’t jump.”
Small words but they were enough to send her world spinning,
Spinning like her once flawless pirouettes.
Another surgery.
Another crippling blow to her body and heart.
Despair choked her,
Strangled her like an anaconda.
But we are all made of stardust,
And our souls are forged in steel.
We are strong enough to be resilient.
Strong enough to be pushed down and stand back up.
Strong enough to survive.
Because we are not victims,
And one challenge is not the end.
With one dream broken, another is formed.
A new light seeping into her splintered heart,
Filling the cracks with a new goal, a new promise:
To rise.
Rise from the pain and the words,
The one that almost broke her.
Rise from her final curtsy at curtain’s call.
Rise when they tell her she can’t
But every bone in her body knows that she can.
When they treat her as weaker,
But the truth is, she has never felt stronger.
So she does all she can do:
She rises.

Ballad of the Dove

Desperately, the dove raises its wings,
Using its last remaining strength to sing
A mournful swan song before it is laid to rest,
Enchanting all the creatures of the forest.

There is a beautiful individuality in the light of a life,
But there is nothing but carnage in the gleam of a knife.

A hunter trapping game in a nearby wood,
Listened to the ballad, and well he understood,
The message encoded within the dove song,
We are all children of our Mother Earth, and we all belong.

The hunter cremated the dove so it could fly again,
Little did the hunter know that the dove still remained.
This time in a form among alphas of the food chain,
Still hesitant to devour flesh and cause an ounce of pain.

The hunter sang the dove song in a time where peace was rare,
He saw armies would war needlessly over a golden chair.

He lived his life simply and told others the tale,
The ballad of the mourning dove he would so softly wail.
With the creatures of the forest singing to that tune,
And one particular wolf howling it to the full moon.

Night

Night

Night oh night do you give me a fright
Night oh night let there be light
Night oh night why so dark
Night oh night have a goodnight

Night oh night look it’s the sun
The sun has risen and you have fallen
Night oh night oh night I have no more fright
Night oh night I will see you when there is no light

Tsunami

It is peaceful, though an imperfect imitation,
The ocean rises as if by design or invitation.
Ascending to heights that tower over the life below,
In the depths they prepare, for somehow, they know.
The mainland knows it as well, this solemn routine,
Familiar with this nurturer and destroyer, for little lies between.
Just some ramshackle sea walls built for combat,
Not meant for this cataclysm, not built for this impact.
Hear the howling anguish of the waves, see the devastation wreaked,
Touch the weary hands of a survivor, taste the hopeless, bitter bleak,
Scrambling for shelter, but no true solace can be found,
The coastline utterly transformed into a burial ground.
Scattering the ashes of those lost to the ocean’s might,
Survivors locating a safe place to sleep in the coal black night,
All will return to balance, though threatened by what gives them life,
Sacred in that it provides protection and causes conflict, terror, and strife.
Harmony and discord colliding in a ceaseless whirlpool,
Deciding who lives and dies, however apathetically cruel,
Haunted and enchanted by your picturesque spell,
Luring those to become trapped on your endless carousel.