tragedy is the makeup she wears,
tears of pain wash away her hopeless dreams,
the scars on her skin show the unforgotten past,
the black hole from which all happiness in her life is drained,
she holds her hand out,
endlessly,
hopelessly,
wishing for someone to grab it,
to take her away,
wishing for someone to smother her fire,
yet her candle still burns,

as i look in her eyes,
i see not the sorrow,
not the tortured and beaten soul that she sees,
i see life,
reality and compassion,
the raw truth,
that is unseen by most that look at her,
i see the most ravishing and divine creature to ever exist on this meager planet,
my love for her is not from lust or selfish needs,
its from the soul,
and that love will never stop burning,
one day i will take her hand,
and make her mine,
make up for all the other men that have failed her before me,
but until then,
i wait from a distance,
cold and alone,
with my hand out,
endlessly,
hopelessly,

Imagine
what the world would be like
if those fighting to ban two men wedding
were committed to ending global hunger.
What would it be like if
the time we spent bantering about what
firearms we can and can't own
was spent ending child abuse?
If the energy spent denying the truth
about our deteriorating planet
was used to fuel green technology,
wouldn't the world be different?
I guess we can only
Imagine.

Beneath a thousand clouds
          I lie and watch
     a vision of a girl
                   dance by;
and in the brilliant light,
          fade and gone-
                    a ghost in the mist.
     The breeze moans on.

Seven New Poems For Seven Days #3:  Orphan**

Orphan

The funeral will commence at 11:30 am.
Gives me one last review time before the
Final Exam.

Panicked, I discover a whole new chapter
for which I am wholly unprepared,
though its inevitable presence was
assuredly knowable long in advance.

Orphan

It doesn't fit, occur, imagery is of a young child to
soon abandoned, not a late-in-life curmudgeonly poet-boy,
who has been multi-times reincarnated.

I add this title to my list
of proper ways to address me,
titles earned by dint of hard work,
or just unlucky luck.

This new status, orphanhood,
bequeaths no special privileges,
other than, a semi-official
societal permission slip
to feel bereft, lost, and compose poetry.

Know a real orphan, from early, early on,
has never recovered and
never will for it is just impossible.
Just impossible.

So whom am I to make light of
my undesired, unrequested new degree?

I accept it and to my surprise,
It hurts.

7/21/13

Your name
       in my mouth
Your face
       to my eyes
Your voice
       in my ears
I've got a sweet tooth
       honey.

I refuse to believe that demons
Know only hate
Thus why they wreak havoc on humanity
I choose to believe that they
Once loved
Loved with all their being
And their love was lost to them
So they wreak havoc on us all
In hopes that
By making us suffer
Their pain may in turn
Be deminished
If only for a moment
The day they loved & lost
Was the day they lost their humanity
And a demon was born.