#thoughtsfromb4

Fire, fire, burning bright,

weaving shadows from the night,

how did mortal man learn to

unlock the secrets within you?

From what darker, distant past

did we emerge, free at last,

once we'd learned to tame then free

thy flaming volatility?

For the magic of your light

gave us ways to fend off night,

steal back daylight, and explore

lands unseen by man before.

Fire, with your powers near,

we outshone our darkest fears

so that, in caves, we could start

making works of timeless art.

What hand or eye or mind was first

moved to quench deeper, inner thirsts;

to–with pigment, coal, or chalk–

imbue their Self upon the rock?

So, with these powers over dark,

one last thought was left to spark,

as we, through art, learned to see

our true immortality.

-- @thoughtsfromb4

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free

So I can see their faces as I cast them back into the sea.

For I have no time to save them, nor be bothered by their fate;

As I must save the nation from all the Dreamers at the gate.

First, though, I must deal with anyone who does not look or sound like me,

Especially all those sad, bad hombre types who would dare to take a knee.

I mean, they make tons of money right (though not nearly as much as me),

So why should they care about the victims of some police brutality?

It's not like they are suffering, nor having their history erased.

Like all those "fine folks" who are having their monuments displaced.

Yet there's no need to fear, I know what monuments and parks to remove,

And with the regulations gone, new wells and mines can be approved.

So to those pathetic liars who say that this type of order is unfair,

Know that I am just making room to bury you beside your Medicare.

And once that’s done I can finally move on to updating our economy;

So that the full 99% are poor and all the rest are rich like me,

Because I know which type of people have suffered most of all — 

The bankers, brokers, and capitalists with their backs against the wall.

And so now you can see the "stable genius" of my “unpresidented” plan:

Stripping all the wealth and liberties from everybody that I can.

Because all of this blood and treasure some say is spent to secure our liberties

Will now be spent to secure the wealth and privilege of rich old fucks like me

Cosmic Questions

What questions would you wish to ask of the stars, if we could speak their language or they speak ours? What answers would you seek from their brilliant years to help ease your worries and quiet your fears? Would you ask them for truths of days long since passed, or ones of new days that now come all too fast?

Or perhaps you might ask them what you could do in thanks for their stardust that resides in you?

When I Am Old

Blake’s Fire

Over There

Cosmic Questions

The Tenacity Of Hope

The Demagogue

Why We Speak

Know That I Too

The Secrets Of Seasons

The Walls

For Tommy

Home

Be-Calmed

Reawakening, Upon A Spring Morning

An Ode For My Mother

The Angel On My Shoulder Goes By The Name Of Death

Diamond Lit Skies

Arrows

And Still The Sun Will Rise

When I Am Up

Endings Without Ends

Eternity In A Telescope

The Storm

Reflections

A Piece of Peace

Clouds drift

Sun lifts

Minds slumber, peacefully adrift

Birds sing

Bells ring

A quiet morning in the spring

Blue skies

Mind’s Eye

Takes it all in to clarify

What’s This

All This

Is there anything still to miss

These days

Always

Infinite things to do and say

But still

Dawn will

Bring back a grand new morning’s thrill

Day breaks

I wake

With brand new paths that I might take

--by @thoughtsfromb4

Life will have some days that you’ll wish to revise Things said or done that fill you with compromise Some decisions over which you’ll agonize And still, the sun will rise

At times, others will seek to antagonize Nights filled with anger will certainly arise Thus, your reflection, you will sometimes despise And still, the sun will rise

There will be hard days with long, heartfelt goodbyes When nothing can be done except eulogize Leaving those left full of love and tearful eyes And still, the sun will rise

There will always be dark nights with cloudy skies But struggle is just the tutor of the wise For failure is where our truths best crystalize True friends are found there, too, for they’ll empathize And so life goes on, with all its lows and highs And still, the sun will rise

Over. Still, I linger…There. Where all things once seemed so fair. Perhaps I’ll walk. Wander. Where? Because everything was there? Now, though, I'll not wonder There, for it is just passed despair. Instead, I’ll grow, ponder errs, giving all their fair earned share; Moving on with grace and care, knowing everything is rare.

We're all searching-- searching for a place where we feel safe, a point we can retreat to and set out from, a place to call our own.  It's a feeling, really, a feeling that one finds in that which we hold closest to our hearts: a loved one's embrace, kind words from a friend, a song that brings a smile, memories of long-ago summer afternoons,  when cares were few and simple. We're all searching--searching for that feeling; a feeling most often found in a singular place. Old or young, man or woman, rich or poor, no matter race or religion, creed or country, sometimes we just need to feel like we belong, like we are part of something.  For some, it is a house, and for others, a neighborhood. For some, it is a town, and for others, a team. For some, it is a school, and for others, a state.  For some, it is a country, and for others, the world at large; yet, for many, it is simply their own small corner of it. But no matter where it is or why we feel it, it is ours. Where we can go to renew ourselves and our spirits. It is our refuge, our place of peace, a place of love, a place called home.