What is a person?

Can it be consumed,
by greed?
Can they be bad,
and be racist?
Can they murder,
other people?
Can you kill them,
without being killed?
Will they steal,
anything of interest?
Will they commit genocide
for complete control?

Can they be hopeful,
of peace?
Can they feel joy,
as the seaside swooshes?
Are they capable of feeling love,
for one of them?
Are they filled with determination,
to live another day,
under the fears of murder,
theft of life and jewelry?
Can they still feel pride,
under racism?

The answer is yes,
my child.
We are all people.
We can fall bad,
Or stay determined,
to be good.
But remember,
Greed corrupts all.

It is night and I’m alone
in the house,
The lights go out
and darkness creeps,
creeps,
creeps,
behind my back.
I go to the bathroom
and look out the bathroom window.
I breath the fresh city air.
I remember my time with fireflies
dancing in the air,
I’d catch one, and let it fly
those days are over now,
forever,
my childhood is gone.
They will live in my memories
until they crumble away
into
dust.

The night is an endless sea
I rowed across an ocean of darkness.
I sailed past the stars.
I go on a hopeless quest
In pursuit of dreams,
lost friendships.
I have often mourned
about loss
I know my journey is
pointless,
but I keep on.
Until I grew
sick
and weary.
The breeze gently blows on my face
I stop and breath the night air.
I slowly turn my boat around
and leave
No use,
I’ll never sail
in high spirits again
I return home
and as I walk away.
The boat sinks
from the weight
of broken dreams.
I sit in my chair
close my eyes
and fall into my
fantasy
I want to
stay in my
fantasy.
I wished
my outward eye
would never
open
again.

Sweet candy tastes sweet,
a hand once made it.
A sword is very useless,
without a hand to hold it.
The pen is mightier than the sword,
but what is a pen without a hand?
A painting whose beauty is admired so,
but it needs a hand to polish the canvas.

Remember the hands,
of those who used them.
They had planted a seedling,
that grew to bear golden fruits.
Fruits, given to us, and not to them.
Those hand are old and left to wither, into dust,
you must never forget those hands that brought you,

Courage...
Happiness...
Determination…
and...
and...
and...
and...
Love...

As I walk, weak and weary
I see a shimmer of light in the forest top.
The green fresh leaves everywhere,
like a never ending sea, the wind blows
and you can hear the sea, the sea!
I go to an opening,
and I
see
golden fruits.
I’d approach the fruits.
I’d touch one,
and smell it’s fresh sweet aroma.
I’d take a bite of one
and strangely my energy is refreshed
then something happened.
My memories flash before me,
my time with fireflies,
the forts I built,
the time I had
with a lost friend.
I’d smile
I finish my meal.
And continue on.

To break the wall, or not.
To fly away, or stay.
Should you cower away,
In fear?
Or stay determined,
to break the wall?
Should you say,
What others want to hear?
Should you give in,
And grow up?
Should you let others imprison you,
and make you dance?
I’m afraid the answer is…
NO! I am my own person!
I am the light in the darkness!
I am the sword that slices boundaries!
I am the thunder that goes boom!
I will break the wall of limits!
I shall not cower!
I shall dance for no one but myself!
I will grow up and at the same time not!
I will break the wall if dynamite!
And if I have no dynamite,
I’ll break it with a pick-axe!
And if I have no pick-axe,
I’ll break it with a fork!
And if I have no fork,
I’ll break it with my hands!
All I know in the world is freedom,
The right to be yourself!
You are the puppet master!
You are the mockingbird!
You are the bomb,
That will set you free!
I’m busy breaking the wall.
And maybe,
you should come too.

My inward eye shines.
As the night dances
in her black glittering gown.
Before the day comes
dancing in her place.

Mother Sleep, oh sleep,
how thy immortal hand
can craft such wonders?
And have memories of days
walk inside my head.

Mother sleep is busy
working at her loom
for the world to marvel at.
While day and night walks
taking turns to rest.

She weaves the memories of day,
and uses the silk of imagination
to create a blanket of dreams.
and carefully wraps the world
in her mystical, inviting work.

We too, man or beast,
thank mother sleep
for her hard work, by
watching the wondrous play,
dance in our minds.