Fight fire with fire. See
the flames kiss the sky.
Watch the sparks fly.
Feel the temperature
rise as cold weather
dies. Think back to
a time when the clouds
cried. Feel the heat
rip like a baseball
hitting a catcher’s mitt.
Poison swirls inside
a dormant mind.
Love stays on
the brain as hate
goes down the drain.
When life knocks,
do not be afraid
to open the door.
When the heat rises,
try not to go down
in flames. Save your-
self. Ask for help
before you strike
matches that will
turn all into ashes.
Time continues to slip
through my gentle grip.
The clothes on my back
continue to get ripped.
My words get flipped.
Blue skies open wide
bringing those who hide
out into the holy light.
Blue skies seem to fade
to gray when the sun
goes away. I don’t mind
doing a little dance
under the thunder.
Days fade to gray
as rain drops drip
onto a vacant crypt.
All colors eventually
fade to gray. Evidently,
some shade is man-made.
Gone with the wind; we fly away today.
We knew we would not stay. It is hard to
say which way we are going or how fast
the wind is blowing. With no signs showing,
curiosity starts growing. The ways that we face
the days can dictate the rate at which we go.
Before we know it, things, times, people,
will be gone. Before long, we will learn
life’s unwavering song. As time flies, the sun
will rise just like the tide. There is no need to hide
when we seek the time to understand both
day and night. Gone, but never forgotten.
Here I am to feel fresh – never rotten.
Anyhow, I feel as if the wind blew me
out of my shoes. Now, I stay gone. I left to go
on a right path. Now, I have gone and found
a piece of peace: a life on the bright side.
These feet keep moving on streets
that I seek until I become weak.
These bare feet move on beat
to music that my soul creates.
I make haste for time I don’t waste.
These feet are on the move like shoes
that didn’t choose to be put on.
These feet have been moving along
like they have nothing to lose.
These feet have paid their dues,
been on the news, beat cases,
and have said “no” to shoe laces.
Step by step, these feet remain
the same: adventurous and free.
These feet are still on the move
because there’s no time to lose
when there’s new places to see.
A Poet’s dream is to be heard
and not seen. A Poet’s dream
is to create, to wait, and to
discover one’s own fate.
A Poet’s dream manifests itself
in words, sounds, and mounds
of half-written ideas found
under the surface: underground.
A Poet dreams a dream brighter
than the sunlight and better than
a good night under the stars’
inviting sight. A Poet’s dream
is to change the world –
to rearrange things to release
one’s hidden pain. Just like
ghosts, Poets do not show them-
selves, but they do know them-
selves. A Poet’s dream
is to live a life that can manifest
itself before and during the night.