Tag Archives: poem

Summer’s End

Held within the tender palm

Of her sister, seldom seen

Did the brightest of them all

Feel the strength within her ween


Shudder, shiver, glow within

Shining bright against Autumn’s slow dance

The doe and the fawn found solace in last

Of warm days to come, and meadows to prance


A smile did cross Sister Summer at last

As meek Sister Autumn found strength to then stand

Her time had now come to lead the year’s cycle

The seasons together, to dance hand in hand


As Summer closed her eyes, so too did the sun

Its warm rays cooling as sky fled to night

Autumn turned away, but gave final glance

To the land stretched before her; a sister’s last light

Waking Giant

Swirling in the quiet coast

A frozen giant slumbers deep

Curled around her waking host

Creation’s vessel rising steep


Whipped by storm and crashing waves

Seared with flowing earth of fire

The island covers nature’s grave

‘Neath molten rock, the forest’s pyre


Wind to cloud, these ashen skies

Cloak the ocean’s hidden gem

Spewing hot the landscape’s rise

And bringing forth new life again

Her Beauty

Her beauty shines out like the Northern Star

Drawing in all eyes

"Her beauty created by adorning Goddesses." Graphic by Grace Higginbotham
“Her beauty created by adorning Goddesses.” Graphic by Grace Higginbotham

Her scent carries on the wind

Telling of her presence

Her eyes as blue as the vast oceans

Giving the slightest hint of paradise

Her beauty created by adorning Goddesses

In hopes to bring light to the darkened world


Her beauty shines out like a light in the darkness

Killing those who dare to touch it

Her scent carries on the polluted wind

A sweet poison to those around her

Her eyes as dark as the raging oceans

Causing the most unfortunate souls to wreck

Her beauty created by scornful Gods

In hopes to destroy the purest of hearts


Society’s Death Sentence

"We attend the funeral of Fairness after experiencing the stinging abuse of injustice." Graphic by Grace Higginbotham
“We attend the funeral of Fairness after experiencing the stinging abuse of injustice.” Graphic by Grace Higginbotham

Hours seem to turn to seconds,

Yet drags on for what seems like centuries.

Coffee flows in our veins,

In a poor attempt to stay functional.

Papers clutter the table tops

Snack wrappers piled up in a corner.

Pens, Pencils, and highlighters

Slowly dying as they touch countless pages


Pain digs deep within our skull

As our brains begs for the sweet relief of sleep

Letters form words

Words form sentences

Sentences form ideas

Ideas that take form on stapled sheets of paper

Papers that deals out the cruelist of tortures


We hold our breath

Waiting for a simple letter.

Letters determine numbers

Numbers determine the path we lead

The path may continue to the horizon

Or burn in the forest called Failure

We attend the funeral of Fairness

After experiencing the stinging abuse of injustice

Words are our chains

Numbers are the crushing force on our shoulders

A burden we can never rid

Until we join Fairness in the ground










Addictive Love

Laughter floats in the air

The warmth of skin radiating under finger tips

The soft caress of lips

Words unspoken

Feelings exposed

Addictive bliss

In the moment

A snapshot in time

Never to be rewritten

“The snap shot is tattooed on our hearts Forever wishing for the past.”


I hear the whispers trickle down the hour glass

I feel the slice of every invective word

Your unsheathed anger

A storm never passing

Emotions always swirling


Self blame



The winds slow

The hour glass stills

Frozen in time

A snapshot from the past

Salt streams formed from regret and guilt

A villian’s plea for redemption

Like an addiction to a drug

Unable to see the truth


The eye has past

The cycle continues





An insatiable craving

The relentless storm rages on


The snapshot is tattooed on our hearts

Forever wishing for the past




I Once Heard a Blind Man Laugh

Cars clamored, jacks hammered, citizens stammered through the city streets, which were alive and functioned like a rusty gear, stiff and forceful.

People rushed to and from with technology that works by thumb, and I could see that even some had bags of products that must have cost gold.

Nobody was smiling.

Image from Creative Commons.

Even myself with optimistic eyes, fiddled with my phone with absolute despise, the warranty that of course implies that should a problem come to arise such as a biker thugs crack the phone in two, perhaps someone cooked it a stew, or a meteor comes crashing down causing an explosion that sends my phone into a burning abyss till its demise.

Or in this case if my battery dies. Continue reading I Once Heard a Blind Man Laugh