Poems

School life
it is almost summer
which I like
better than school

If knowledge is what you are looking for
Then I suggest to you to take the time
To search the shelves for books you will adore
You could start with a simple children’s rhyme
Or maybe you’d prefer to read the news
To fill your mind with problems of the world
But don’t forget the other books to choose
And many pages that should be unfurled
Perhaps it would be best for you to find
A book that you can clearly understand
So you’ll be able to expand your mind
And spread your knowledge all across the land
Some concepts may be hard to comprehend
But it will all be worth it in the end

I smell it now.

Disgust creeps onto my face.

The stench of greed soaking into me.

Emanating from every pore of hers.

In the room, there’s a pretty vase of dahlias on the dresser.

I should focus on it.

Not on the selfish brat in front of me.

She stares up at me, all freckles and innocence, methodically breaking up the rich chocolate, and somehow managing to shove every piece between her dainty lips.

The pieces that drop smear the floor,

Her sticky fingers painting an unwanted masterpiece on the white doorframe.

Only a child.

Doesn’t know any better.

Perhaps.

Shall I excuse her?

I’ll come again.

In time, as I know, nothing will change.

Nature, human nature, does very little in the wake of change.

Perhaps I am wrong.

But.

The scent.
I smell it now.

Disgust creeps onto my face.

The stench of greed soaking into me.

Emanating from every pore of hers.

In the room, there’s a vase of dead dahlias on the dresser.

I should focus on it.

Not on the selfish lady in front of me.

She stares at me now, all long lashes and scorn, methodically trying on one piece of
jewelry after the next, discarding every choice, and somehow managing to find fault
and flaw with every piece.

She’s the same, but I can’t remember if she was as picky as a child.

I think not.

Instead of staining the doorframe with pleasant chocolate, she now smudges it with
her vanity. Destroys the blankness with her selfishness. Fills the room with her
greed.

I am content.

Because I am right.

She has not changed.

I am happy.

Because her scent is no longer masked by fresh flowers, sweets, and youth.

In a world where a second is too short
Yet a moment seems forever
A memory lasts a few hours
And a scar will eventually heal
Many roads will take you nowhere
Some will take you here
Stars fall from blinding heights
Only half might come back up
In a world where Time is everywhere
Repeats a few days later
Where breaths sing a sweet sugared tune
And oceans scream through nightfall
Catalyzing silence echoes through
Your mind, your body, your sister
It’s a different view from your balcony than mine
But we know we’ll end up in the same
One character
One mind
Different versions of the same old song
You play the beginning
Ill play the end
It’s still the same old song

She looks into the mirror and she sees
A girl whose face is streaked with falling tears

Her hair is flowing in the summer breeze
As she attempts to conquer her worst fears

She does not see the beauty that exists

Because the world has tried to bring her down

Each day the negativity persists

Upon her face there is a mournful frown

Her friends have tried to make her understand
That she is really beautiful inside

She’s always there to help and lend a hand
And on her comradeship they have relied

It dawns on her that what they said is true
Real beauty has to come from within you

So far away, it’s hard to imagine.

Think of the quiet efficiency, the deadly intent.

And I have to explain where her father went.

The chilled breeze comes by, and for a moment, I can taste the answers.

But just for a moment.

Eliza doesn’t speak her mind.

I guess she’s thinking of the way she and the neighbor’s daughter fight over toys and the right to draw with chalk on the sidewalk.

Maybe I could say it’s that kind of problem,

Simple,

Clear.

But then she would ask why her dad isn’t home yet.

Crystalline stars weave across the whirling sky; so careless, so alive,

The swirling mists, a tinged blend of the seasons, bound together,

The echo of an eagle's call, sounding over a bottomless lake,

A cicada's song so shrill and resonating,

The sound of distant waves, crashing against shore,

Again,

Again,

Again,

Together, forming enchanted chords only the night can bring; one so foreign to those who truly listen,

It is a haunting tune, keeping the earth's rhythm in time,