When you see a man,
Twisted and worn,
Hold your tongue,
Sheath your scorn,

Those living in darkness, grow toward the light.

Birds, Herds, and Herbs converge,
Within weeds and trees-- some evergreens,
These roisterous worlds, a wonderous sight!
The flume of art and the womb of life.

But what if I were to say,
This rite has grown dull,
For the true beauty,
Lies in your soul.

Indeed! It's true! You're full of hue,
A teeming world resides in you!
Your body, mind, all shaped by time,
Host to shine of different designs,
Friends, foes, and fair alike,
Within your bounds, have made a life.

So know this well, embrace the view--
The universe is part of you!

When did we stop wanting to become a firefighter
When did we stop wanting to become a police man
When did we stop wanting to be someone great

When did we stop dreaming
When did we stop fighting
When did we start settling with the easy option
When did we stop ...
When did we stop ...
When did we stop living

Food and sleep to stay alive.
Medications to stay stable.
Friends to stay happy.
Love to start living.

What is living? Is it the opposite of dead?
No, that’s survival. Is it eating, and sleeping?
No, that’s being alive. Living is different.
Living is choosing to do those other things for an ultimate concern.
Living is doing more than those things
to experience your life to the fullest capacity possible.

There is nothing to gain, nothing to lose. Nothing.

As the smell of oil and tar has soaked all realms,
God gave men free will, but they knew he was bluffing.
All men got was a heart as a battlefield for themselves.

All heart’s matters are individual, and therefore can be disputed,
and are private, and them staying that way is vital.

I am walking a marathon to the wall where I will be executed
on the black path of a repeating Radiohead vinyl.

In the naphthalene on your lungs, in your teapot filled with cold water,
in your cupboard behind the cups, in the endless line to your doctor,
in the smell of your favourite flowers and the dust of your favourite venue,
there is a lit candle bleeding wax on the poems I’ve never read you.

Try living in paradise

Still recovering from trauma

Thinking about the ones left behind



Feeling sun on brown skin

While buildings burn down

Today was like any other



Enjoying cool ocean waters

While salt washes festering wounds

Fresh flesh like grapefruit is pink



Looking to the distant stars

Trampling on growing daisies

Only to lay in a field of them



Howling loud at worship

While fearing the whites of saved eyes

Lift every voice and sing



To dance and to be joyful

While quakes lulls sleeping babies

When the dust settles what remains