Weapons

Its time to set aside the sword
of wholesome discontent.
Broad strikes against all I’ve known
Paint the landscape of my affections.

It’s time to lay the shield down
And heal our tattered ends
We fend off tears of reconciliation to
Paint the landscape of the afflicted.

Its time to drive the dagger down
Into our chasm of doubt.
The serrated edges of self-esteem
Paint the landscape of the unknown.

Its time to set the quiver down
And see through untainted eyes .
The arrows of anger have been drawn to
Paint the landscape of the oppressed

Its time we leave defense behind,
Stale air in our armory.
So the winds of truth can blow to
Paint the landscape of the lost.

Joy?

Searching within the dew of truth,
Acknowledging the lies that brought me here
Droplets of rain form and descend on me,
Nurturing with arbitrary empathy
Even when the drops dry away with time
Solitude remains with me, as I
Savor my dilemma with contempt

Rebirth

Floating Leaves Surround
The young as they lay dreaming
Spring is here again

Clarity

Is your pain truly real,
When you only lied to yourself?
With baited breath and slim guarantees,
You’ve only assured your loneliness.

Is it the solitude where you confide?
Do your demons lend a kind ear?
Somewhere in the void that is your passion,
Lies a place where the truth still hurts.

Do you see the blood stains on your dress?
Are your emotions too hard to impress,
…upon yourself.

Dreams,
Are only made for fools,
Who believe the lies they tell themselves,
When nothing else will suffice.

Where is your redemption?
Is it underneath your bed?
Can you explain the memories,
Of visions not yet corrupted?

Can you wash the blood stains from your dress?
Is the truth that hard to suppress,
…within you

Your redemption has left you,
In the place that you are safest.
As you corrupt the memories.
you havent developed yet.

Haiku.

Infinite Sadness,
Bittersweet thoughts of times past.
Together we cry.

The Cloud

Out in the desert stood a young fragile weed,
suffocating from the searing air of despair.
She thirsts for hope, for the water of life,
and patiently awaits her redemption.

Over the sky, a cloud passes near.
nature and pride has brought him to this place.
with the leverage of life he passes along,
drifting and floating nigh.

The young weed sees this noble giant
and meekly calls out his name.
Oh cloud! you are made of what i crave,
please extend your compassion to me!

"Why should i waste my gifts upon you," said the cloud,
"As if you are worthy of my remedy?"
My fruit is for the roses, who live past the mountain
And your place is out here in the sand.

And the cloud, gently swayed by the currents of guilt,
as he crested the mountainous ledge.
With the glimpse of the roses and a weed far away,
he felt the humidity of his heartbreak.

He returns to the spot of the heat and the sand,
of abandoned prayers and broken wings,
as he outstreched his arms out and supplied his truth,
he called out to the most worthy of all.

Wake up! It's me!
I have brought your salvation and joy!
But the young weed, she could not recieve his gifts,
As she lay, wilted in the sand.