April Madness

Trains
I always loved trains, I met you on one.
Soaked by the heavens, to dry by my side.
Don’t blow it.
I hoped.

I watched from afar, wondering who you are.
Meet my gaze; windows to the soul welcome me.
A strange feeling of ease.
My destination had come and gone.
I had a new destiny.
I prayed.

I like to believe we all have soul mates we pass everyday
But when push came to shove, I lost your eyes.
You however, did not. It seems so easy from above.
Can I sit next to you?
Maybe I’m your puppet.
I relished

I dream.
You found me.
Drenched I sit by your side, it’s a hellish glee.
I always loved trains, I met you on one.
Trains

Yes, I really am pathetic enough to write a poem about a SB.

Wonderland

Far away, there is a place.

So unpredictable. It's hard to guess, whether
You'll soar, or be dumped on your face.
You never know,
'Til you spread your wings

And take the chance.

Watch the politics,
Learn the dance.
Make a name,
Then find yourself

A back to stab.

Write a speech, or just blab,
Inspire an army,
And march against the Queen;
Betray her sister,

And steal the throne.

Not born of The Family, a new ruler has come.
A man sitting all alone.
A wife is needed, a wife is found.
Worse than the king, she rules

With an iron fist.

She sees the strings, and pulls them all.
Nursing grudges, she makes a list;
Revenge to be gotten,
Paid through the blood of one so young.

A lie is planted, a plan infalliable.

Within the mind of a girl
That has a temper so volatile;
A young love crushed,
As a silent heart breaks.

Sadness rules,

And tyranny.
The only hope, a family of fools,
Too proud to unite.
And then,

When all hope is lost,

The Hearts will mend,
And the Whites will weigh the costs;
Two sisters once more,
Reunited...for once. For now.

Origami

I fold sadness in little stars
patterned in fluro hearts
I bought from the corner store.
Slipping edge into edge,
climbing into itself over points
of accepted meeting,
they regularly appear crooked,
missing the pop to round out
their hollow cheeks.
It is better to make these,
(I think)
than to wonder what else
I can do with sadness
and hands.

The World Wakes Up

Thaw the land from the trap of cold
pause of the world.
Play the tape, let dead be dead
as corpses rise
from white washed lands.

Welcome the smell of dirt,
mud underfoot, squished between toes,
dragged around like seeds
before they sprout.
Humidity returns
as rain pelts through slush.
Throw open the house.

Join me in the vengeful world
where flowers bow to frost.

Rainwater without Reason.

Not all things are done for a reason,
just as not all things are done without purpose.
Rain falls from clouds as it pleases,
and yet fulfills many a calling.

It quenches the thirst of the earth,
it's sons, it's daughters,
waters feeding the grass,
feeding the trees.

And yet it is not for these reasons that it falls,
for it would fall were there no trees to feed,
or grass to water, simply because it is.
The earth heeds not her subjects,
but still they are cared for.

A thought

Ink black skies
and crystal stars
shroud the waking memory
just like a cloud of ebony.
If ever there was
such a thing
so weightless and materialistic
that could fathom such an impossible concept
as non-existence.
So blinded by our need
for tangibility
and what we call reality.
But isn't this all just a dream?
A lulling limbo
before we finally wake up
daring to open the curtain
of a society that consistently tells us that;
'you're
not
good enough.'
Why can't you see your worth?