Death Of A Writer

Snowfall

Delicate snowfall,

The passing of seasons change,

The cold air makes you feel alive,

The weather that makes you unite with your neighbors,

The cold that unifies,

One which was a fear to society is now its greatest ally,

I hope for more cold days.

False Utopia

Hidden thoughts,

Restricted ideas,

No more rascim,

No more opression,

No more hate,

But at what cost?

Silence only hurts the people,

The utopia this will create,

Will only be false.

Power Without Accountability

Question without evidence,

The news anchor with his mansion in the sky,

Unlimited rhetoric; with no accountability

Questioners shut down,

Questioners are the "wrong side",

With no skeptism as an answer,

They will remain unchecked,

And have control,

You were warned,

You had the chance,

You let it slip away,

No we all pay,

With no accountability,

There can be no sanctity. 

Hidden Flower

Concealed form the sunlight,

Hidden from life,

A beautiful flower,

A wonderous idea,

Hidden No more.

Death Of A Writer

His life was a long one

Full of pain,

The way he dealt with it all,

Was to write.

As a young lad writing comforted him;

When he felt lonely or sad,

Stories of great adventures or lost treasures, would flow from his pen.

From a lad to a man,

The writer had become a prodigy

Highly regarded by his university,

He began to write deeper, with more feelings from within,

Stories of love or the meaning of life, Now came shooting from his pen.

The years went by, the man continued to write

His writings were now garnered with great fame and through his age he gained experience,

Learning now the reason he wrote was because of the sorrow and loneliness of which consumed his past.

Not until he lie on his death bed did he realize the life of a writer is one stricken with such great sadness,

Without A Clue

The pavement is dark tonight,

Yet it is so colorful,

The crimes committed here seem so atrocious,

Yet to the person who committed them,

These are not acts of violence,

They are works of art.

The idea of this job is so inhuman,

Acts of a horrible nature are constantly committed,

Yet, a blind eye is always turned,

The more this job is done,

The more numb the feelings for morality become.

However, tonight the felling is cold,

A gut wrenching twist of emotions,

A never ending intrusion of negative thoughts,

The person who lies here,

Was my own,

She was sanity in the dark times,

The voice when everything was silent,

The one who loved.

Now she is gone,

The world has taken her away,

and now,

I am just another detective left without a clue.

Crystal Blue Skies

The crystalline euphoria of atmospheric skies,
The color of blue fills my delicate heart with thoughts of peace,
Cloudy as my thoughts may be, The peace of these skies make me forget,
While the rivers of earth run red,
We all need skies that are this blue.