Planted without dirt, The life of memory In turn rebirth Was enriched by elements, Of braver energy Made earth.
Feed the Narrative.
Ferocious how The suspicion fell, Spiders all spinning And eating Their fill, Not knowing Who was victim, Or kill.
Authoritarian in July.
Choice is both, Ours alone And, For other’s To Atone.
Another Hand for Nice.
For in Liberty There will always be, Another hand To pick it up.
One Word, Two Sentences.
For decisions Of the intertwine, On certainty reverse. The majesty of mercury, Is opportune And curse.
My Grey Tree.
There are days I am Like that Tree, The one that gestures At the edges Of my grey, And reminds […]
Write Yourself.
Then follow your ticket, Even if you have to Write yourself Into The Show.
For a New Prescription.
Finally, there is understanding, Of where it is And who we are in this standing, And in another then And […]
Fickle Tide.
When I am surrounded By so many Of their everyone’s, Am I really Any of My anyone?
Stronger Hands.
As weakness feels sure, The strength drenched In trenches, Is of angles And of Greeting anger As a lure.
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