There is no evil in the mind

Of an eight-year-old in the creek.

A young boy feels no need to unwind,

Or heed the days of the week.

Those days beneath the bridge I played

Now seem so far away.

With soap in hand and bills unpaid,

I wade waist-deep, dismayed.

My home is clay beside the water,

My bath between the banks.

Last year, they called me "globetrotter,"

Charities gave me thanks.

This world makes little sense to me,

But at least I can speak my views.

Freedom of Speech uninhibited,

When a man has nothing to lose.

Climbing on to the railing of this bridge,

 I think to myself,

"one more step till freedom."

Because I, a man, can not soar.

I do not posses the mighty wings of an eagle.

Which is why you find me here on this bridge today. 

I crave the strength and respect

this majestic bird receives,

That I know will never be

mine, at least not until,

I take this step.

Look within this cathedral

Where nature's columns

Rise above your head

The ceiling a green canopy

Filled with music as wind blows

Yes fear draws in your heart

Woodlands dark can shake

Every senses to the bone

But look up the sky is blue

The trees incenses call you in

Walk through the doors

Of these woods and be amazed

WHERE IT RAINS

Where it rains

is where no one knows.

It's hard to reveal its secrets.

It's always dark

but full of life,

It's a place of magic.

All the glistening

through the light

of a thousand stars,

But people still wonder

where it rains ...

Words are my drug of choice

They’re my uppers, and my downers

They get me high

They drop me low

They make me feel alive

They keep me numb

They are potent and powerful

They are meaningless, and empty

They are cheap

They are expensive

Sometimes I need a quick fix

I am a word junkie

I spit on color

and it brightens,

give pain its sweetness

and lift joy from depths

of flatness, pinning

legs to passion as it

flees monotony.

I make meaningful the void

and stitch devastation with

notion of possibility,

a shield against the world

while you reconstruct hope.

Yet I am despised as I

heap definition on

all that comforts.

one day, I will fade

into tales of regret and look

on from the forgotten shadows

of your heart. and I will smile.

and hate how long it took peace

to give up greed and find you.

farewell old friend. glad you made it.

my favorite scar

lies on my wrist,

it predates memory,

which suggests

I was born broken.

it's deeper than

the other ones

that exposed the

unnerving shade of bone,

the first reveals

my frailty,

perhaps neglect

or a shadow of things

to come.

so I love it for what

it isn't because it

was never mine.

weakness left by another.

more than hope depends

on the merciless weather,

changing just because.

but I will undress and stand

in rain and make love to time.

and we'll talk about

our matching outfits, and plan

for all the forecasts

we are longing to defy

with minds we lost to hearts.

Or maybe, we'll just stay in.

somewhere in the distance

lies a piece of earth

never stepped on

by people and their anguish.

I will find it

and dig my heels deep

and ruin the soil

with the havoc within.

and the worst of me

will circle sun

lonely and ancient.

like all the buried poets

that lie beneath

my footprints.

wishing they had

tread upon their darkness

before the world mourned

words from the grave.