Ours was less an Arab Spring
and more a half-hearted coup d'état.
There was no immolation,
no burning desire on your part;
no passion in the streets of you.

You stole in at night
through a window I'd left open,
a crack in my need
for something more than mere
existence.  From me there was
no resistance.

I let you lead, and followed blindly;
my voice I raised on your behalf
against all that I had known before.
Your words, your whispers
alone could incite me to storm
against the strongest walls.

Now, as summer comes
and this sectarian affair,
this spring uprising
that we called us has ended,
I sweep the streets of our debris
and wander down
the empty avenues
of you, half-hearted.

r ~ 6/5/14

Nature is an orchestra
For everyone to enjoy
The leaves falling in time,
conducting the whistle
of the wind. Branches
groan a deep bass,
Birds peep high melodies
And the water twinkles till the end
Nature is a orchestra
For everyone to enjoy

What is that there, that you have?
A love that was forgotten.  
Scribbled down was a note of passion.
A picture laid down next to it, crumbled up.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

What is that feeling of hatred?
That's mixed with sadness.
A tragic love story that was rebirth from the ashes.
It quickly tumbled down, to an unknown place.
A place to be forgotten, a place with simple grace.

What is left, but for simple forgiveness?
Shout it out, at the top of your lungs.
What has been said and what has been done.
Catch your breath for the fallen ones.
Leave your mark on the forgotten ones.