A bright star being birthed in cyberspace,
or supernova fading out of view…
A proud creator notes its proper place
atop a list of things wondrous and new.
The world collective holds its breath and waits,
expansion of the universe on hold.
For cruel is a life controlled by fates
compassionless, unfeeling, deathly cold.
By chance, will an observer see its spark,
inspect its hyperlink, pursuing more?
Or will it slide in shameful downward arc,
a soundless note within an endless score?
Into the void with screams of silent rage,
an unread verse descends New Poems page.
Compassion
That which doesn’t kill us
Ironically makers us stronger
The tough life we’ve experienced
The abuse we’ve had to conquer
Many arrogantly judge the actions
Compassionless - disturbed by their perception of the view
Dogmatic in their position
Unfortunately – some weren’t as blessed as you
A child with no direction
Helpless – lost, scared, and all alone
Relying on anger and instincts
Manifesting from the insecurity of no safe home
Condoning bad behavior?
We all reap what we sow
However; a garden that’s been neglected
Needs extra love to thrive and grow
There will be trials and tribulations
Tumultuous – long are the days and nights
Many wrongs have been made
Patients – Guidance - strength will be gained in the fight
They say it takes a village
Let’s comprehend this beautiful truth
With love and compassion
Humanity – there’s beauty in me helping you
The precious children are our future
Let’s raise them up so they can see
Guided with compassion
Faith, hope, and love – it all starts with you and me
Societies Shame
02/09/2018
Toothless grin implores
Pleading eyes so pained
People passing ignore
Beggar should be ashamed
Compassionless society
Lazy get a job
Regardless of sobriety
People lose all hope
Victim of circumstance
Job loss, mental health
Heartbreaking happenstance
Me relative wealth
Reach down deep
Cashless society
No place to sleep
One eye open nightly
No change given
Change a mans life
Suicide driven
Problematic rife
Never with cash
Unable to help
Make a mad dash
Bank Commonwealth
Change for a man
Giver not receiver
My helping hand
Made a believer
Help others I implore
So much to gain
My heart left raw
Society to blame
He stood there
Grey hair dirty, long
Unwanted
His grubby shirt faded
Old
Eyes sad, torn
No one
No home
Dirty bag holds food
Pushed aside
Misplaced
Stared at
Stared from
His frame of
Shocking disclosures
Un-habituated
Sits down
Pauses, pausing
Moving aside
Pulling away
From life
Pulled away from
Us, them
Wrinkled noses
Snickering
Compassion
Compassionless
What happened
What happened to you
In your burrowing world
In your past
Decades
Have passed
Onto your wrinkles
Near death
Your forever lost
And at times
So are we
With our lowered lids.
Ray of light
Shining bright
Help me feel
Beyond the steel
of the compassionless face
Lacking grace
Ray of light
Ignite the flight
of the innocent child
Whose carefree wilds
Embody the dreams
of grown-up means
Ray of light
Hold him tight
Embrace his laughter
For ever after
Promise his plight
Will be made right
Ray of light
Help me fight
Show me how
To unfurrow his brow
To contain the rage
Help him better gage
How to express
Without excess
His honest feelings;
their true meanings
Ray of light
Bring to its height
His true potential
Its value; exponential
Never again, shall he know
The cruelty, others show
Not understanding
Why they were branding
Him a freak
If I were the compassionless sort
without regard for flowing sanctity,
and if hunger more dire than thirst
rocked through me with stings true,
I would think of babies as morsels
of puffy flesh more succulent than
the sinewy knots riddled with tendons
once formed as joints since adults
bend knees with ardor too vast
to grasp pure honesty.
When snacking upon that treasure
trove of future’s calling, I laugh at
the clamor of rattles and chimes
since baby chops prove delicate
bits, stippled with rivulets of soft
fat yet to be flexed in purpose or
pleasure, and children blinded by
innocence never see the devil in
my blood-streaked eyes or the
cherub on my shoulder.
Once sated by my feast of infants,
my hollow chest will rumble loud
till my questing once more lumbers
to pastel quarters of babbling coos.
I shall round up more tinkering grubs
still swaddle-bound by fabric most
cloying, inviting my navy blood to
boil with pathogens unleashed by
centuries of lust, greed and avarice
until prospect staggers lost.