morrrrior

In order to live, I must look at the art in

Everything. These feelings that reside deep

In my chest are nothing compared to my

Awe for the beauty of gradient skies, nor the

Sweet melody of the dogs barking in the

Street; never can they supercede the Orange

Jubilee when Spring puts one foot in the

Door, and at no time will these feelings of

Mine outweight the tale of every writer who,

In order to live, had to look at the art in

It is fact among him and his family;

his wife will deal with customers,

his son will return from school,

his daughter will watch television,

and Sone will work until late.

Adam will live another day.

It is a fact among him and his buddies;

Carl will enter the bar at six,

Tilman will arrive in a rush,

Kane will drink himself silly,

and Adam will join them with pleasure.

Sone will drive home at ten o' clock,

lights of the highway too bright.

Adam will join his fellas in song,

ignoring the fading of time.

Sone will die on impact that night;

Adam choking on wine.

- Zom

and the vibrant lily,

squashed beneath my feet.

when i raised my foot apologetically

all i saw was a carcuss and chloroplast

around the crack in the sidewalk

where the flower bloomed.

butterflies and flowers dont feel pain,

is what i told myself to feel better.

but the butterfly just wanted a break

and the lily just wanted to thrive.

i took that from them

i took that from the poor, frail beings.

what if the butterfly had a family?

a home?

a caterpillar or caccoon or butterfly

waiting for their relative to return.

the butterfly didnt want to die today.

the lily was born in the middle of death,

each and every second was a threat of being stepped on by giants.

but it survived despite all odds

until today.

its hard work amounted to nothing

and its insignificant guts smeared the street.

i didnt mean to kill them.

i had somewhere to be as well;

i was in a hurry!

but as i gazed upon the corpses

i couldnt help but shed a tear.

then another,

and another.

i think i cried over a butterfly

and a flower.

but i had somewhere to be.

another day, i'll remember their bodies

and think about them

I can’t help wondering when you will crash

When the wings I crafted are shattered

But it’s not your fault

I don’t know who’s to blame

I have faith

I’ve had faith

But each time you so foolishly take to the skies,

I’m not angry anymore

I’ll make you a new pair to use and abuse

But surely, one day, I’ll make my last wings

So fly high, Icarus

Because when you crash into the ocean

Like you inevitably will do,

I’ll swim to your rescue

curmudgeon

cajol

auduous

rhuemy

morose

confounded

innocuous

mastication

ardent

culpable

besmirch

sardonic

recalcitrant

the hustling on the street,

young men trying to get on their feet,

all lands on deaf ears.

I am acquainted with the hassle,

so much so it all melts away.

Then I was sent to war.

The deluge of bullets,

the screams of men in their sleep,

monsters slaughtering sheep,

all crash on a poor boy.

I can't handle the battle,

so much so I cover my ears and weep.

I don't belong.

The pitter-patter of slugs,

the trudging of The Reaper,

victims who long to meet her,

all meet the same end.

I am acquainted with death,

so much so draw my final breath.

The blind will read the lyrics,

the deaf will hear the melody,

the poor will buy a record,

and the paralyzed will tap their feet.

The comfortable will furrow their brows

and ask what has happened;

what has changed?

They will not hear the song—

we can't truly touch?

our atoms can't fuse

or the world would explode.

there will always be

infinite space

between

us. is physical touch a lie

or a tragedy?

maybe that's why

i

don't like hugs but

you

neither land nor the sea

but in that sneaky sliver between

i shall lay among crustaceans

reside in the belly of whales

bees buzz filling ears

wasps sting again, again

plenty growth

plenty crops

plenty rights

i dreamed a world of few

few troubles

few injuries

few flites

i dreamed a world that's heavy

many people

many goals

many heights

i dreamed a world that's wispy

free to dance

free to sing

free to write

this dream has stayed with me for many, many nights

We will be back. Whether it takes minutes, days, months, or years– we will be back. No one will know just how much can be lost but you. We don’t mean to disappear— we just drift. You’re a force to be reckoned with. Constantly changing no matter where you are, many can’t keep up. Many feel forced to trudge your grueling walk. Many fall behind. It’s not your fault; it never was. Please, never think that.

We will be back. It’s not our fault either. A plethora of things can drag us behind. We send letters to our future selves, ten years from now when we will either reminisce or mourn. We send letters to nostalgia, the fleeting thing that we sprint after but run out of breath every time. Maybe from being out of shape– joints not working the way they used to, or bones popping that used to ache from growing. No one stops to think of you because no one thinks they have the time. But can you truly blame us?

We will be back. No one is to blame. You can’t help your boldness, and we can’t help but close our eyes when met with such a searing sun. We burn regardless. But your brilliant rays aren’t meant to scorch; they’re meant to shine through the blinds of a window and signify another day has begun. They’re meant to force the sleep out of bleary eyes rubbed at by a child or elder. They’re meant to warm the skin of those who are willing to face today– whenever that may be.

Nonetheless, we will be back. Wait for us, we plead. Some need to hit the snooze button on their alarm clock. Some need to send their letters to Past and Future. Some need to prepare themselves for you. But we will be back to greet you. Whether it be a grumble, yawn, a grin, or laughter, we will be ready for you when the time comes. You will greet us back with emotions of your own. How could anyone blame you for that?

Many have mixed feelings about you, but we can only assume how you feel about us. Whatever that feeling may be, we’ll be back regardless. You'll greet us with gently harsh rays that burn and heal. It depends on us.

We tolerate you,