“Until all voices matter, not all lives will.” -Beth
What we fail to see is;
what we remain silent about allows the wrong parts of governments to grow, the wrong parts of human nature to thrive, whether they be on the left or right.
They all drink from the cup of humanity, drunkards sipping from our thoughts and spewing ideologies over the frailest parts of humanity.
I closed my eyes to see.
no matter the side can sit and hear without labeling and hate,
we encourage this great divide.
The wrong parts of government will continue to grow, they will continue to feed us through establishment medias and of us, this torn humanity they will drink.
From the heavens colors drip,
upon bodies barren,
that with a naked eye we may see,
the sky weeps and bleeds,
rains, tones of skin,
more numerous than the stars,
these colors that fall upon you and I.
Ive written this poem about a 4 year old boy and his imagination.
I set out to write a story about his parents but this child grab my attention. His patents in the middle of financial hardship, his fathers job lose and the strain placed on the mother, this child’s never land, right out his back door.
“In this place, his bodyweightless, like a child’s rhyme.”
“In this place, paper boats float.”
Hope you enjoy the read
From the room above her,
a pleasant aroma hangs from the ceiling,
awakens words upon her flesh,
between weary and angry,
numb hands pray.
This poem is about Maria, a woman working 16hr shifts, dealing with a rising cost to live and stagnate wages.
I spoke with her and I asked her, “how do you do it, she said, I pray that I don’t feel my life.” Those words affected me and set the tone for this poem.
Featured on “spillwords.com”
That moment when you thinks a 4yr old has the answer.
He loves superheroes, and when he’s older that’s what he wants to be.
I saw him sitting there on the step, and I asked him, “what are you thinking about? You look like you’re in deep thought.”
He said to me, “I am in deep thought. I think the problem is, superman has no where to change his clothes, there’s no phone places(booths)left. That’s the problem, there’s no phone booths left so superman can change his clothes.”
I said to him, “maybe you’re right and simply, he said, I think that’s the problem Beth.”
This is a personal share. Put a smile on my face and I hope you enjoy this piece has much as I enjoyed the conversation with a 4 yr old named zack.
Numb hands pray,
voice like ash,
blows through the heavens,
fall upon an angel, bare this sorrow with me.
A single rose leaf begins to burst through stone.
Photo credit, world through my eyes. Fb
“There’s a language waiting for you, furrowed within your soul, a word waiting for your breath”
You can bend with every word, wanting to make it your own.
Try to become a single verse you were never meant to hold.
Desire a word to wrap yourself around and find it has left you cold.
Search through languages for one word, to quite a loud wave, and still disputing oceans.
You can search continuously, and gaze into the words of another, to try and find their meanings.
These words you search, are searching for you, for your breath, to bring them to life, wrap themselves up in you, bleed through languages, and artistries buried in your own soul.