Dirty Strings

The blight in those fearless eyes,

Cutting blooms from plants,

And love from romance.


The blight in those fearless eyes,

Giving rot to my precious,

While gripping close to her heart.


Dare her to dance on the strings pulled by fingers,

The overbearing over-blaring opera singer-

Of her present,

Decide to build her future for her,

Give no regard to the desires of the subject.


She is family,

The closest there is,

The only there is,

But she is not theirs,

And she is not his,

She is herself,

Owned by her actions,

Forgotten by her inactions,

She is precise,

And has been given her rightful opportunity to build her own life,

She’s been guilted twice,

By the edicts of puppet masters making sure she doesn’t still the show; keeping her alike.


If she wields her feet to step, they shall,

If she wields her sleep to slept, it shall,

The power of breaking from the shell,

Of her elders’ shadows.


Precious Spring bloom,

Not arid, not trite,

Never taken by the blight,

Of their fearless eyes.


I promise the pressure will be a prospect of the past,

Just step.



Another Step

I view all my actions as steps,

Steps toward something,

Something somewhere,

Not always known,

But ahead.

I have a tendency to watch where my feet go,

Shambling over dead thoughts,

And stumbling over bleak instances of the past,

But I never fall,

It never hurts,

For long, well…it never lasts.

Every act,

Every notion,

Every response,

Every movement,

Is fixed facing forward,

Stuck in the gist of things,

I can’t turn back.

The challenge comes from the past’s embrace,

It comes from the emotion that is latched around my neck,

I have blotchy bruises caused from the strength of my resistance; sore muscles,

I pray to God at night that my neck doesn’t break,

I find my hands gripped around the nape,

It’s not that from these latches that I cannot escape,

But the power that I need to exert in order for them to break,

Not to mind…that I also have shackles around my ankles that stop me from dancing for joy,

It has dumbed down to this awkward hop in wake of achievement,

But celebration nonetheless.

Some would say I’m fighting myself,

Simply because I won’t turn around,

And face what I direct my steps against,

A yank from the chain of my demons I could dispel,

But I cannot bring myself to please them with usual hell,

I must walk, fight,

Remain the living contradiction to this blight,

Against all…another step.


What We

Oh whoa we,

We as a whole,

The conviction of interests and closely knit goals,

The reach of something more beyond stained silver and blemished gold.

Oh whoa we,

We as a group,

The affliction of what combined drive could offer to truth,

The essence of time, presence and involvement in youth.

Oh whoa we,

We together,

In harmony, a gift for forever,

To make shortcomings no longer an endeavor.

Oh whoa us,

We, built on trust,

We grabbed winds and tug gusts,

Of passing prosperity,

We knowingly joined the popularity,

To be warned of the dangers of clarity,

In times of other’s clouded judgement,

We became, created, when others could make nothing of it,

We saw a forecast of rainy days and rewrote,

When silence chilled clouded chapped rooms, we spoke,

We made possible of from which those joked,

We removed the generational cloak-

That presented us as a selfish folk that choked,

On the words of our ancestors and old,

We know that success was not a product to be sold,

We lovingly adopted what we were told,

And put it flames,

We know that we are only to blame,

For our inability to change,

The very foundations that left our demons free and untamed,

That we are to blame,

For our chains,

We will, by our eternal domain,

Be glorified,

Oh whoa we.