The Sun is a burning town

A ghost town starts to burn down.
During the day no one would notice.
It seems hopeless, but at night
The flames peak the horizon
The sky seems to brighten
One giant town sized flare
To make all that surround aware
There are flames in our future

Cowards Are Not Capable of Love

If your’e scared of heights, but want to shine bright
you’ll have to climb and devote your light.

If you’re scared of quakes, but want the earth to change
Well that’s just a risk you’ll have to take.

if you’re scared of being dropped, but wish to free fall
you’re gonna have to jump off the wall

if you believe that I’ll cease to love,
just because you said I drink to much;
well then I guess you don’t know me very well; do you?

False will Fall

The predictable season of fall
The leaves are colored prison orange
The breeze is an erratic outburst
The ground is fashionably hollow

A courageous leaf would disregard,
and would remain defiantly green.

An intelligent breeze would express,
how it cries for your recognition.

A ground worth standing on would be filled,
with genuine belief in himself.

When trees are stark one leaf will succeed
When the breeze is poised it will be honored
When the ground collapses you have truth

Unsatisfactory

School is where you glorify
youth to be invidious
learn to be silent grasshopper
continued boredom and tedious
students must report to their cells
when the ring signals
clump of youth Herded by bells
they echo through these halls
as they would in the depths of hell
hell must be the routine for eternity
hell must be a failed school system
full of contradictions and absurdity
we arrive to learn but only gain assumptions
books written in the late style of irony
gossip passed as urgently as news
imitating the media which has brain washed our youth.
Hardly the center of knowledge
more like a farm by a slaughter house.

It’s Been Hopeless

I tossed a rock straight up
as high as my arms let me
emotions also ran high
I had caused this to be
as it soared
reaching blue skies
bathed in sunlight
higher then any piece of dirt
just to tumble back down
smacking to the floor
then settled lifeless
like a rock and nothing more

The break up

Down to my fingers
My body aches
Drink myself to death
Do whatever it takes

Press the button
Labeled self destruction

Stay awake all evening
and drink the tide
Find my self a grave
and fall asleep inside

Press the button
Labeled self destruction

Wake up head heavy
She’s on my mind
Piles of unopened cans
I start the climb

Press the button
Labeled self destruction

WHAT HAS BEEN FORGOTTEN
several steps from the front door;
you have not yet left you’re home,
for you have not truly stepped outside,
until you are far from the landscaped city.

Landscaped land is raped when admired,
enslaved by man to please the eye.
The way a surgeon molds a person,
as they seek the power of seduction;

however seduction is the thin chain…
that conquers the domesticated elephant.
we have yet to see true beauty.
because we are content with imitations.

The Clock’s Meaning of Life

The moderate job in regard to clocks
the purpose of gears elaborate cog.
Every perfect piece was bestowed
by the architect to keep track of time.
Thus the device has served its purpose,
in doing only what it is able to.

Consider the mind engaged in thought
deep in silence and heavy in resolve.
The brain does what it can,
filled with thoughts like water in a garden can,
Yet a garden can’s purpose is not to be filled
but to quench the thirst of gardens.

Our eyes serve for the purpose of sight,
proving we exist to watch and admire,
Same as our hearts declare to alll of us
that we live to be moved and inspired.
In the same way that all things function
they also find reason and fulfill their meaning

Distant Memory

I faintly recall the women
whose relation escapes me,
conversing her blurry friend.
Her lineage was ancient. She
spoke in a forgotten language.

My ears glimpsed her briefly,
surveying the market swiftly.
Admiring the hand woven quilts
Embroidered with the quetzal.

Familiar but not quite home
every son seemed my brother.
This land embraced me like
a long lost relative.

**************************************

really that poem was just openning for this fame propelling poem by Julia Alvarez (no relation)

How I Learned to Sweep

My mother never taught me sweeping.
One afternoon she found me watching
t.v. She eyed the dusty floor
boldly, and put a broom before
me, and said she’d like to be able
to eat her dinner off that table,
and nodded at my feet, then left.
I knew right off what she expected
and went at it. I stepped and swept;
the t.v. blared the news; I kept
my mind on what I had to do,
until in minutes, I was through.
Her floor was as immaculate
as a just-washed dinner plate.
I waited for her to return
and turned to watch the President,
live from the White House, talk of war:
in the Far East our soldiers were
landing in their helicopters
into jungles their propellers
swept like weeds seen underwater
while perplexing shots were fired
from those beautiful green gardens
into which these dragonflies
filled with little men descended.
I got up and swept again
as they fell out of the sky.
I swept all the harder when
I watched a dozen of them die.
as if their dust fell through the screen
upon the floor I had just cleaned.
She came back and turned the dial;
the screen went dark. That’s beautiful,
she said, and ran her clean hand through
my hair, and on, over the window-
sill, coffee table, rocker, desk,
and held it up-I held my breath-
That’s beautiful, she said, impressed,
she hadn’t found a speck of death.

LEGENDS ARE MADE

Every eve would lose its captivity,
if the stars were arranged symmetrically ,
thus every ingenious scheme is belittled
by the grandness of nature.

Behold as you traverse the earth,
and encounter peculiar terrain.
You who should become in love
with the attributes of every son

Do not pay adherence to constant comforts,
instead wander with the fleetness of time
and learn that the past has elapsed.
It no longer exists except in evidence.

For this reason memory and past are naught.
In spite of this evade the darkness and indifference;
you hold a luminary rope linking you to the past.
Let go of this chord, but recall it’s texture.

Sail on the waters of experience
urged by the winds of adventure
bringing glory to you’re finger tips,
and the unique prints that adorn them.