The sweet deceptions.
These lies to my ears.
They tear me open.
And feed my tears.

The mask.
Covered disguise.
Have been the sweet tooth truth. Not the bitter lies.

The vile acidic reflection.
As I peer into the reflected agony. The big or little correction.
Changed the way my mind prospers.

The mortal realization.
The castles of my own failure.
I am my own creation.
While I am also my own deflation.

I am not the round a bout guy.
The bend over and pick it up where it used to lye.

The mist hung low, so low that mountains grew
high up in my imagination,
they towered into the sky
and threw their aura far,

I caught a glimpse of snow-white tracts,
of deep dark treed ravines, of balanced boulders,
blossom filled meadows, its slopes diminished
where the cataract, cascades of water,
danced between in cracks of velvet turf,

They hated you for your truth,
but you prevailed my dearest
friend.

Though you left too suddenly,
too soon to say goodbye,
and no one could say
"We are sorry for having misjudged
you, but we were blinded by your light."

I know that as long as even one person
stays alive and tastes the oranges growing
from your ashes, that your story will never
die.
Not in the poetry
not in the music,
not in the art
you left
behind, waiting.

Waiting. Wanting to be heard.

Blame Who

Long time there has been no storming from you
but such an outcome of growing population
and
damning economy
no one can blame,
you nor me/I
but those who produce a family
when they could afford none.
why should you or I feel blameworthy,
for all those who had
no common sense…