NightRainForest

    The great rhythmic cracking, the pulsing of uniform ridges sirens through the hazy brush. Drips of sunlight fall through the leaves out of the deep yawning sky.    They certainly were right when they said mornings are most beautiful. The grey mornings of glowing clouds and lingering fog. Of that serene foreshadowing that smells thick of misty water and dirty musk.    The belch of a roar sings to the clacking echoes. The commencement of defense rings through the umbrellas of trees. It shakes the tired phantoms that grace the webbing lush and hastens their withdraw.    Scared is the lion rushed with no turn. He is weak in his legs

Time does still and silence pervade. A fleck glides in gentle cascade Liftingly pierced by stalking light, Drifting from magnifying fright. In this manner the dust does wade. No breeze lends an ascending aid. For this, hopeful dust is betrayed, Weighted with gravitating blight. Time does still. In swinging descent to evade Modest dust finds familiar shade. And with escape enjoys delight Though response yields dwindling flight. Fleeting trance commences to fade. Time does still.

A lonely house apathetic to the life it once restored With cockroaches scattering under creaking doors Spiders abandoning their decorated walls A place clothed in a thick film of dust and withdrawal The corpses of my childhood lay in a bath of innocence Shriveled up in the murky mildew incense I wander through the gnawed carpet fringe Into peeling rooms bleeding their skin I once lived here But I forgot it long ago— Hid the memories; let them rust as to never move my longing again I smothered them with my new life, my clean, well-lit den And with the help of these walls housing a blissful asylum Mirth warmed me from within m

Here we go down the slide Is it not swell from the child's eye Drifting down into the endless tide A bright end never nigh Is it not swell from the child's eye A deep spiraling ploy A bright end never nigh Beckoning forth with promise of joy A deep spiraling ploy The darkening mask consumes his cry Beckoning forth with promise of joy This cycle will calcify The darkening mask consumes his cry In his blistering climb This cycle will calcify As he regrets the resolve of time He resigns to abate Drifting down into the endless tide For he feigns to find freedom from fate Here we go down the slide

 I have always wondered about the meaning of honesty. It seems that there are so many exceptions and so few justifications. In a world of uncertainty, blurred by human perception, it is hard to understand what is truth and what is lie; and then you get answers like neither. But, I guess this is expected as everything always returns to grey. I like to think that I am an honest person. Yes, I have been tempted to cheat, and I might have found the answer on another person's paper, but I am the kind of person who will intentionally put the wrong answer because I did see B bubbled in on number 64. I am also the kind of person who hates it when

 Like all other humans, you are born from your mother's womb. And just as there are many infants that exist, there are many species of plants as well. Many different flowers. Different colors, different fragrances, different anatomies, but all beautiful. It is proven to be an evolutionary advantage that humans share a relationship with flowering plants. We transport their seeds, and they give us beauty. Your life is no different. As a child, you admire the beauty of flowers. And as you wander the gardens of your neighbors, a seed falls onto your soft head—carpeted with a fuzzy layer of hair that might be mistaken for fresh grass—

One day I lay down in the ground and let the warm dirt swallow me as I looked at the cool sky wisped with cotton. As I sat up I felt an itch pinch the back of my thigh. Grappling to scratch it, I felt a little worm-like creature sliver in. I was worried at first but once I left the hole that I had made, it was easily ignored. The next day my little inhabitant started to wiggle and I, impulsively, scratched the soft skin on the back of my leg. I scratched and scratched until my hands were wet and my fingernails were full. I went to get a wet towel to wash away the dripping scab, hoping to find a clever little worm in the mess of blood and t

Angry trees Angry trees Whip at each other Sway with their anger Tap pat click plop Puddles gulp and gulp Shallow yet deep Oh so deep Don't fall in But how I want it How it wants me Crackle soft constant crackle soft It is only fire now Fire bright fire bleeds fire warms fire burns Flash! White dagger finds me Rumble rumble The sky beats on its chest It shakes the shadowy drum above me And then down they come Falling, Hammering, Shooting Why are you mad? Mad mad mad always mad Rumble rumble It is coming Towering wave Building growing whitening burning Falling FALLING it's coming! Crashing on me CRASHING BURNING Bur

What is love if one forgives and forgets? For forgiveness is received gratefully, But as you forget sin, you forget me. As you forgive, is betrayal not met? Failures and loved graced you can't merit. For you to understand, for you to see, For you to love unconditionally… This is my dream: to live without regret. How am I ever to fit in the cast? I cannot erase myself nor my fate. Forgiveness is blind, tis a hollow mask Hiding the uncertainty of your state, For pushing me away is deemed its task, So that I must dwell in your denied hate.

I am cold with the chills of loneliness, But this is not how it has always been. I once burnt with the flames of selfishness, But then I was told that I lived in sin, And to remove the passions from my mind. To repent and be perfect, I was told. Fused with self-hatred, I became refined, But with new enlightenment I am cold. Stiffened with the crystals of modesty, Paralyzed with the restraints of my cure, Trapped in this faithful realm, I cannot see, Frozen with the virtues of what is proper. But when I see you, then I am drawn forth. I am reminded that there exists warmth.