If I had a voice like clover,

dancin’ in the wind,

I’d sing of love & wonder—

sweetness, youth, & awe.

Would you return the favor?

& sing along with me?

Or would you walk to forest springs

& splash among the trees?

We were oh so close once,

sharin’ all our dreams.

Now we’re old & brittle—

frail & weak & spent.

Dancin’ days are over.

Our winds have settled down.

Love & wonder still remain,

but youth has stepped away.

Copyright 2021

clinging to sanity

we sink like the USS Arizona

and grasp at foggy memories:

"America is great, right?"

bloodied grounds

burnt down in tyranny

and stupidity as we set our sky ablaze

(chugging economy like the whisky that lingers in the bellies of dead friends).

raging whispers of conspiracy

and debauchery

coming from under our beds

into our heads

while we forget we are supposed to sleep.

guns in our grip

slipping from greasy fingers

and lost purposes,

triggers are pulled,

innocents are hurt

and lies spread their wings like the eagle.

face to face matches

of black and white punches

each side tugging

and falling

and clueless to the hole forming in the battlground beneath.

we keep screaming

not realizing everyone has grown up

with deaf ears

not realizing we need to slow down

and write down words to better cooperate

to reveal the middle ground of truths.

America is a large, separated and segregated country of humans,

that hold past grudges

and future false promises...

human,

just like you and me,

so please open your eyes and see

a nation below your own feet slowly

c r u m b l i n g.

Proxy scowled as the man walked closer to her.

Go away, she wanted to scream, I don't want you, I want him.

" So?" she asked, her hand on her gun holdster, eyes of steel. He laughed, a cold, raspy laugh that made her skin crawl angrily. " I didn't want to see you. I want him."

He raised an eyebrow, his face twisted with laughter.

" He's dead."

I looked at him in shock, waiting for him to laugh again and lead the boy to the light.

" I'm not joking, kid. He died a long time ago-"

Proxy's face was calm. But pointing the gun, and shooting him over and over, until her shoes were stained with scarlet, was a quietness louder than thunder.

She wiped her hands of what remained of her father, and kicked his body in the ditch by the road. She had no remorse or guilt. She had waited for this moment.

Murderous tendencies ran in the family, she figured. Fool.

She picked up her mask from her backpack and slipped it on, her face cold from the wind. She slipped her gun in her pocket, and slammed the door in the car a little too hard, and stepped on the gas a little to fast, and forgot about her father a bit to quickly.

Her brother was still alive. Her father was a terrible liar.

She'd find him even if it meant killing every person in the city if she had to.