Underground Verses
You were the one,
that I looked up to-
closest thing to the sun.
There was a time
I reached out to you
when you wouldn’t shine-
leaving me in the dark.
Though you’d return,
from time to time-
you didn’t retain your spark.
As much as I tried,
I couldn’t figure to grow-
no example bestowed.
I couldn’t figure,
how to root
from a pod below;
and, then I had
no fruit to bear,
no seeds to regrow.
Just raggedy weeds,
that fed upon me,
before I could sow.
In came the surrogates.
They never saw me.
To them I didn’t exist.
Never cared to find me.
I was one, who
they never paid attention to,
never thought highly of.
The one who they never knew
would overgrow them,
as I blotted their sight
as they looked above me.
They tried to imitate the sun,
pretending to shine on everyone
but, only casted shadows.
Yet, despite that cloak,
I found light to soak
and got my chlorophyll.
Good fortune in love
This love of ours, no contenders.
Courteously warm, soft and tender.
The envy of many, we bid adieu,
having our cake and eating it too.
On a night like this, romance sings,
two love birds, we spread our wings;
out across the star spangled sky.
You’re the spirit that carries me high.
Onto vast fields empyrean,
fruitful pastures of passion serene.
Looking upon the world below,
in all its majesty and hallow,
dearly departed from our sorrow,
with no need for tomorrow.
Diamonds in the rough
Silently watching,
as the days go by.
The sun descends,
with a slow sigh.
We are bound,
to this circumference.
The laws of physics,
enforce our comforts.
This eco-sphere
our home planet.
It’s drama ensues,
constantly evolving.
We are in tune,
with it’s calling.
The madness that is,
’cause of our devolving.
Be careful, who
you are involved.
For many have not,
your greatest intention.
Concept of drawn lots,
is an invention.
We have fallen for,
the system’s confection.
There is an
abundance for all.
We just,
have to see it.
But, if all are blind
none are the wise,
the hope of brightness
is drear.
They have us believe
the world as it is.
That imbalanced
is our natural state;
that war is,
necessary for peace;
that a wasteland
is our inheritance.
There is more
than meets the eye.
We are not
so easily fooled,
not so easily,
used as a tool.
We are not swine
hence, they lay no jewels.
The power of water
Water is the source of life,
permeating in all living things,
that which cannot retain,
likely expired.
Water levels increase,
we call it a flood.
Water levels decrease,
we say there’s a drought.
All seeds yearn for it,
syphoning through soil, dirt,
churning the ground with a root.
It covers a majority of earth,
yet potable water, not
accessible to all.
Wildfires destroy the land,
water tables are disappearing.
What will be left for humans?
Amidst all of this,
the rain is selective,
and we are a wasteful collective.
Cargo
We are but fragile,
porcelain dolls,
on bumpy roads, traveling.
Depending on how,
we were packaged,
determines if, were damaged.
Hairline fractures,
that won’t mend.
We break, never bend.
Some of us,
are in pieces,
at journey’s end.
Treasure
Our friendship has gotten,
only greater with time
memories never forgotten,
despite the course of time.
Good times and the bad,
we’ve seen each other through-
whether happy or sad,
I’ve leaned on you.
You’ve always been there,
to upset my frown,
showing you that you care,
when the chips are down;
or, rejoice in my success,
share in that delight,
when life did bless-
unto new heights.
I am very grateful,
for all that you do.
What a treasure I have,
in a friend like you.
Sole
I was born,
with a
feeling of emptiness,
that I could not shake,
so I,
broke myself,
in half, and
took a peak.
Was not surprised,
at what,
I found.
For the discovery,
of nothing,
did not arouse.
I’d hoped
to find,
a soul.
It was an,
barren expanse
of an infinity.
Uninhabited,
it may be,
but I sought
to find things
that would make
me complete.
I was not consoled,
by the thought,
of the existence,
of a deity,
that we,
could not blame
for the madness,
that it,
created.
Nor was I,
happy at,
the thought,
that we’re,
an accident
of the cosmos.
A budding race
from some sort
of, cosmic mulch.
Seemed to me,
there was nothing
that eased
the inquiry,
of my
weathered self.
Just more,
of the same,
second guessing.
If such a
thing is likely,
in all this,
consuming vast,
barrenness,
I can only,
hope to
one day be,
full.
Alien Buddha Press 