Found poem

Faced with the hellish summer, camouflaging and ambushing
it never ends
Another ominous wind would whip up a storm, bringing more than a flurry into their home. Colored embers, red and yellow, drift down.
In the night, carved pumpkins and a bereaved autumn loom. Deep in the shadows, roaches encroach.
a whiskey-breath nightmare with malevolent intentions follows her on the trail.
A vigilant presence has kept vigil, guarding children who run swiftly through thickets.
like a bright angel, a bird seeking the sun.
So pure of heart, and a thing so rare
It is a sin to kill a mockingbird

Citation: Lee, Harper. To Kill a Mockingbird. New York: Grand Central Publishing, 1960

Unlovable

A field of flowers forms around me,
flowers with colors that I have yet to have seen,
hues untouched by the human eye.
Through the endless pit of petals,
Past pink Camellias, passing Lilies, and Tulips,
I identify your face.
The figure that becomes of you makes me realize

That this is only a dream.

The Garden

The grass that grows beyond the line
The garden of the most divine
If only it was mine
Its hands reach far and wide
The grass is left with little time
The lilacs growing taller
The roses are owned by no one
Its golden leaves are undone
Its vast form, so wild and free
Left for us to mourn and plea
And only if you look beyond
Behind the blue and silver pond
And if it’s found or discovered
The leaves will have to flee
Leaving not a single flower
To be plucked by you or me
No one can go beyond the line
Of bright grass and deep green vine
You want to keep this perfect garden
But nothing about it is kept, it’s guarded
You can leave it behind and just be done
The garden is owned by no one.

Broken-glass Hearts

Our hearts are made to dazzle.
They climb and fall and burn and sparkle,
like an elaborate light show
a saga told through tiny sparks.

When we learn we can be burned
We subdue ourselves until we barely simmer.
A heat re-directed inwards.

We drink fake diamonds and get broken-glass
Hearts, just to kill what makes us raw.
Fire can’t be polished, but ash can be preserved
So we burn ourselves out
Chasing perfection and
Finding only inhumanity.

Authenticity is a double
Edged sword but I would
Rather get my heart broken
As my self than as a
Silk-covered shell.

You can’t make people
Love you so sanding
Yourself into an ideal is
Just pain for the sake of pain

Being told you are too much
Is like squeezing lime juice in your eyes
But sink your feet into the earth
And hold yourself oak-tree still
And say “you’re right, so what”?
And let yourself hurt, be painfully
Human, see the world through
vibrant eyes. Love and listen
And hope and dream, burn through this broken glass heart.

My Winter Wonderland

Glittering expanses stretch as far as the eye can see, so far that one might think that the soft, silent snow was all there was to see.
Enormous trees stretch their branches toward the sky, but even in such a high place, the sky seemed further away than ever.
The painted wooden condos rise from the ground and reach almost to the top of the highest pine tree.
Beauty shines from every corner, promise at the tip of every ridge in the distance.
Clear ringing voices diminish so that all you can hear is yourself.
It is sanity at its peak,
That way it has snow in every direction.
In the spring, the snow is stripped away,
Vibrant flowers now shine with morning dew drops, welcoming summer’s sweltering rays.
In autumn, browned needles and jingling circular leaves fall from the sky,
Then the snow comes.
Sweeping every direction with its pristine rays,
Sheltering sleeping animals for their winter naps,
Structuring the unraveling threads sweeping their way through my mind,
Tying the strands of organized, logical thought away,
The snow covers it all,
Melting my doubt,
Piling more to my happiness,
Laughter is the only thing in the snow that rings through to the rest of the world.
Laughter comes from the mountains,
From my family, gathered around our red stockings and singing merry songs,
Digging holes through the snowplow pile from the parking lot,
From my grandfather, chasing me with crumbling snowballs in his hands.
Snow is only the bow on top that makes it all tie together.

Dates

Girls are mysterious
Their thoughts are delirious
while often serious
Yet their words are still mysterious

In utter confusion, I am left
Over and over just another test
Leaving me Stressed
I merely want to rest
I’m not obsessed, just unrest
I must confess, I would like to go on a date, I might overdress
the only right answer is YES

endless

The endless sound of song rings with the grace of light
The muse of song grazed my hands, asking for chapters
Yet to come

Filling the air of grace and love, filling my lungs with pride and shame
The song cleansed my impure soul, freed me from the ties of hearts
Life can begin a chapter of new

Reflections of the past. so clear so old still haunt this very soul
Lessons were taught, and lessons were learned

This new chapter will burn, but I will still hold.

The muse of song burns with me
The burning song of life must be heard
The muse won’t let me waste a song
The endless song holds all songs
My song wont be a waste
so keep the song endless
for I want to hear your song

So weak So strong

So wise so strong, so weak so small
Rise from ash, rise from the sea
But fell from hate. Fell for love
Don’t cry, don’t weep
Love is strong, love is weak
A flowers burning passion must not grow weak
A rare beauty, a flower of passion
The color of grace, the pride of shine
Something foretold the flowers’ grace
But The greed of love held the endless sadness
And ate the grace and took the shine
Rise from hate, rise from betrayal
A rare beauty must be strong
So do Look ahead,
the sun’s your passion
the moon your elegance
The rain will heal a broken flower
But a flower of passion needs a new love
Find new ground, leave the polluted soil and look to
The other side
A flower of passion is not alone
A flower of passion has a home