Magazine Posts

Go you down this life's path.
Do not incur the social wrath.
Seek out others, unlike you.
Gather together. It's what to do.
Be like the Phoenix, arise in the flame.
Complete the circle and do it again.

If I say, "I love you"
do not worry. Do not fret,
for these are words of compassion,
which state a feeling, and yet,
they are composed with emotion,
until our Personal Sun will set.

I hope
I do
not linger
when life
gives me
the finger.
Doing this
I've said,
it's time
to go.
My bed
awaits me,
over there,
so now
I must
surely be
gone from
here and
must flee,
this life
without thee.

The black cloak of night
descends on this World, ours
and moonlight may come again
as the Moon fights with the Stars.
Are we creatures of the dark?
Do we keep our voices hidden?
Can we not be friends again
or must our friendship be ridden.
Rid us of the hate we have
for others who do not look
the same as us.
Before long we all will be riding
on this excuse of a fairness bus.

A story from me,
a story to you,
for life's goals
are old; not new.
Take charge
of your life.
Revisit anew,
be there for others,
be there for you.

The strength of your will
is stronger, with life's desire.
Light a flame, in your heart,
set the World on fire.

"The loss of Native American land during and after the colonization period remains one of the darkest points in US history, but in the past few decades, there has been a rise in land acquisitions from Native American tribes" ..... Read full article

I heard the Sirens call,
when I first went to sea.
I'm hearing it once more,
as she is searching for me.
A mournful sound, as I recall.
There was nothing there to see,
except to know in my heart,
she will soon be finding me.
Should I hide away from here?
Will she let me flee,
or go to the Earth's end,
to capture the Soul of me?
I now dream of sleepless nights
when I was last at sea,
knowing when the Siren calls,
it may be the end of me.

How do words, dull as they are,
become sharper than razor knives,
when said with your tongue;
become so hateful, at least to me.
For the words which can be said,
may case much love or be painfully
hurtful, no matter the day or time,
when said in passion,
washed down with wine.

Long may you walk, this Earth profound,
from your early life, to elder days.
A cruel World, with some beautiful times,
with words, now spent, from memory banks,
of empty bins and shelves all bare.
No action now. No one to give
or provide aid to how we lived.