Work Poem

A part of me wants to explode

A part of me wants to die knowing I took someone else out with me

A part of me is crying 

A part of me is no more than the simplest idea of evil 

A part of me is burning away what it has left 

A part of me is resurrected knowing that I am the only god I need 

A part of me lacks faith in the whole 

A part of me is faithful to the concept of revenge 

A part of me is dark 

A part of me is the monster underneath my bed

A part of me enjoys the arguments of other voices in my head 

A part of me wakes up alone and does not know why 

A part of me hates the movies that make me cry 

A part of me laughs to keep from screaming 

A part of me is okay with the rest of me leaving

A part of me is funny ha ha and funny weird 

A part of me is that ringing in your ears 

A part of me is nothing that should be given concern 

A part of me is the lesson you need to learn 

A part of me can the see the future when it’s dreaming

A part of me lack the skill in completely believing 

A part of me is dead

A part of me chooses life instead 

A part of me is fight 

A part of me is strife 

A part of ne is happy 

A part of me is crappy 

A part of me is smart 

A part of me has no heart 

A part of me is me 

A part of me is all the me I need to be 

Shut Up Because I Love You

She was different in how she moved 

She was normal in the world she viewed 

She was loved in each type of sound her laughter made

She was hatted in the beauty of the love that she gave

She was science in the efficiency of her every process 

She was magic in the total of her video game loses 

She was stone in the foundation of what she was believing

She was clay in the knowledge of her inherited teachings

She was victorious in every single argument she ever had 

She was defeatist in every note she sung, they were just that bad

She was joyous at the very start of each day

Shea was morose in the times I spent away

She was broken in the turbulent soundings of continuous thunder 

She was solid in the acceptance and fixings of my blunders

She was anger in the running of mouths fueled by ignorance 

She was laughter in the resolution of my rabbling nonsense 

She was light so that I would always see my tunnels end 

She was darkness so that my monsters could have a friend 

She was ending to the long lived fancy dreams of my youth 

She was the beginning to the man I learned to be at rebirth 

She was birth to the end that I eventually needed to learn 

She was death to the fool hardy dreams for which I so long had yearned 

She was my hate in all the time as my sadness sat growing

She will always be my love and my reason for which I keep going

Another Flash Fiction

The Meaning in Fate

By Jeff Lee

Dear Gerwald,

Here within this letter is the full detail of your inheritance. I never had the heart to tell you about what lays in the crates my lawyer have presented you. It was stupid of me to think that keeping a secret from you would save you pain more so than giving you this letter now and being unable to answer the questions you may have. I am sorry for that and hope that as you read this point will be clear and my love is understood.

Your loving father,

Henry

     The letter was one paragraph but was only the first page to the hundred-page manuscript sitting on the table before Gery Helm. He was tired, a fact that could be told from the rumpled nature of his clothes and the dark circles etched below his eyes. Gery took a sip from his cup of coffee the lawyer’s assistant had given him. It was cold and bitter but grounded him as he read on.

You see son when you were born I was so worried about your future that I sought the console of a seer. Her name was Rадател Hela M’Tynri and was renowned for her skill. I asked her plain and simple what worries you would face during your life and what I could do to aid them.

She said only a few simple words. “Your son will lose a foot.”

When I asked her to explain she said that is all she saw. I left harrowed by the news that you may at some time be crippled. It was then that I decided to do what I could to fix the problem.

When I returned home I took down my tools, my pencils, my drafting square and I began to draw your feet. I had measured then while you slept and by morning I had carved a near perfect replica of each foot. They were wooden but if needed would keep you mobile. But when I looked at them I knew these would not do. Hela had not said which, or when, or how you would lose your foot. I took it upon myself like a quest of old, I would craft you a pair of feet for every age. I studied the anatomy of feet in books and talked with podiatrists who specialized in prosthetics. I even sold a few of my designs to larger companies to both help and finance my endeavors. I found better material and trained myself to mold it, as I needed.

Each night I would measure your feet down to the most minute of details. Without rest till the day I passed I crafted you 97 pairs of feet at last count. I know you no longer need the pairs of feet from your youth so I am donating them to hospitals around the world. The adult pairs I beg you to keep and care for they are my legacy to you, the love I have for you in physical form.

     Gery put the documents down on the table in front of him. He felt sick like the world was moving too fast around him. His father knew something like this and had not only kept it from him but had worked everyday of this life to prevent it. The distance that Gery had always felt from his father was only a defense so that Gery would not have to carry the burden of it. It was too much to take in. Gery’s dizziness strengthened as he reached for his coffee cup. His hand missed the mark and the cup was knocked over the table spilling the coffee on the letter and notes from his father. Gery rushed to catch the liquid but his hand was too shaky, it only made the coffee run faster toward the floor.

     Gery rose from the table pushing the chair away from him. The assistant had rushed in to aid him in his clean up. She placed a folder on the table with Gery’s name on it. Inside were the release papers for the cases and the prosthetics he could no longer use. He drew his pen and signed them. He handed it to the assistant and walked out of the room leaving the cases and his father’s notes behind him.

     Later that week a delivery truck parked outside of Gery’s house. The men asked where the cases should go and Gery gestured to the garage. When they were finished Gery gently opened each of the cases. There before him were smaller cases each holding a single foot and a placard reading either right or left and the age. Gery was astonished by the craftsmanship and care put into each foot.

Searching he found the one listed 45 RIGHT and pulled it out from its case. Gery took off his shoe and sock and placed the artificial foot down next to his. It was a perfect match down to the coloring of his toenails. Gery smiled a small crack of a smile.

For the next several hours Gery worked his way through each of the cases. It was as if he was traveling through time watching one piece of his body age before him year by year. He eventually came to the end and began to return the feet to their cases. When he reached 57 and he could not match one right foot to a left. He let it be and worked down back to his own age but still he was missing one left foot. He unpacked and repacked each set of feet. Looking all around his garage and eventually his house. But he could not find it anywhere.

Eventually it dawned on Gery and he began to laugh deep and resounding. “You were right Dad, I did lose one and because of you I felt no pain for it.”

Tear Bending

So, first let me say that I am a man in the traditional sense and have no qualms or questions in my masculinity. I’m big, I’m tough, and I have a good deal of facial and body hair. I smell like a man, talk like a man, and even fart in an open room just because I can. All of these things solidly define me, as what people would say is manly. Second, in reference to the first part of this statement let me say this…today at work I cried like a baby. I spilled tears much like a levy bursting forth due to heavy rainfall. My noise ran, calling attention to my tears as I tired to sniff up the running green goop set loose by my teary build up. In short form, I wept openly.

            Not that crying is unmanly, but because we are still bound as a society by the rough guy stereotype of the 1950’s it is not commonplace. The question you might have is what caused a manly man like myself to emotionally fall apart enough to weep openly? The answer is simple, a comic depicting a story from the new Avatar series. If you are aware of what Avatar is (not the James Cameron blue cat people movie), then you can most likely skip this section. If you are unaware of Avatar then I may just cry a bit for your lack of understanding, but will only give a quick explanation.

            Avatar created by Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. The series aired between 2005 and 2008 on the Nickelodeon networks. The story itself was about a world where people moved or bended the four elements air, earth, fire and water. They did this by moving their bodies and hands much like the classic martial arts styles originated by shaolin monks in early China. The main character was a young boy named Aang, who was the last air bender after spending a hundred years sleeping in ice. He also was the last Avatar, which is a person reincarnated each generation and has the ablity to bend all four elements. Aang traveled the world with his friends Katara and Zuko learning the other bending forms so that he could save the world from the oppression of the fire nation. Aang eventually saved the world and fell in love with Katara his water-bending teacher.

As a whole, Avatar was a beautifully fascinating series that was great for both kids and adults alike. For those that did watch all or at least most of it, you can speak of chakras and a good deal of us will imagine the explain of water moving through pools given to Aang. But moving on the whole point to my explanation is that for there to be a new Avatar the old one must pass on and rejoin the collective memories and wisdom inherited in the new incarnation of the Avatar. In the sequel to the original Avatar series The Legend of Kora, there is a new Avatar and the old one, Aang, has passed on. The comic, which made me, cry was a memory told by Kora being taught by her water bending master Katara. Now, you might have made the connection, the new Avatar (Kora) is being taught by the old Avatar’s love. The comic was beautifully simple but epically sad at the end. To view it for yourself click the link below:

http://cheezburger.com/7813048576

            Now after reading my breakdown and the comic are you too now tear bending? If not that is okay, but you may want to check that you have a pulse because obviously you are lacking a heart YOU MONSTER! No, sorry that was out of line and I apologies, but seriously YOU MONSTER! The point I am getting at is the Avatar series was written with the colorful happy presentation for children to enjoy and with a deeply poetic meaning running through its core for adults. I can honestly see myself watching this with my kids (if I had any). At the end of the show they are happy and trying to bend the table with their fists. Me, I’m moved by the understanding that you don’t have to know the purpose only know that there can be balance in everything. (I also might be trying to bend the table).

            With the creation of an after story kids who did not watch the first one would not get the comic more than the face value of having someone that loves you enough to be with you everyday. For the adults and kids that have watched the first series th understanding that comes from change is enormous. The last air bender Aang is now gone and those that loved him and taught him will have to watch his successor go through some of the trials he did. The huge cycle of life and death with the understanding that it will always be in balance should be something respected, especially from a simple cartoon.

            Now that we have spent some time tear bending maybe its time we move on to the other things. If anything take this from what I have written, that just because it’s a cartoon does not mean it cannot teach you what it is to be human. Also crying is a human action, not a womanly or manly action.

(Please note that when I first starting writing this I stopped and came back to it several weeks later. I opened the comic again to remind myself of the message and sure enough I bent tears again.) 

School Assignment

School, being school assigned a simple assignment to write a scene that built suspense. It needed to be between 200 - 600 words. it need to use whatever methods of dialogue, narrative, and description to exemplify the need to escape a person, place or thing. 

Here is what I cam up with. 

“It burns,” Shel said. Her voice was far away as if she was just awoken from sleep. This was in contrast to the look on her face. Eyes wide in terror, red rings encircled the dark blue of her iris. Her skin white and shallow like the tide gone out from the shore. Mouth agape exposing dried gums crusted with blood inking the white of her teeth

            “That is its purpose child, to burn away the wandering thoughts of a godless actions of heathens such as you,” answered the tin tone voice in the speaker above Shel’s head.

            Shel tried again to turn her head to find the voice. At times it seemed like it was everywhere at once. It always followed the pain marching behind it in parade fashion. A ripping feeling above her eyes, then the warm burst of blood, then the burning, and finally the voice telling her to be still and it would all be okay.

            Shel sat tense for a moment listening; the voice from the speaker said nothing else the burning slowed then stopped. Shel was alone in her room again strapped to cold metallic table. She was still alive but her time was short. If they could not get her to admit she believed in the father they would turn the torches on. Fire would erupt from every corner of the room and she would burn writhing in agony-licked head to toe by cleansing flames. The image of her blackened body smoking as the cleaning crew entered the room to remove her body made Shel vomit bile into the back of her throat. 

           

“Quite your fear girl, see only the river were you float, not the falls ahead,” said the memory of Xavier. Shel recalled the intensity on his face as he spoke to her of fear and the destructive power it had.

           

“Okay, you old son of a vapor thief, what am I am I to do then?” asked Shel to her memory. She thought hard and did as she was trained, She breathed out the fear and took in air in that moment alone. Her mind cleared the fog of pain as called her muscles into action.

           

A camera set high in the celling rotated at a rate of 1 millimeter an second. In a total of 15 seconds it would move from one side of the room to the other. Moving now from right to leave the camera caught a subtle tremor in Shel’s right arm as it passed. On its return trip from left to right the camera caught a similar tremor in Shel’s left arm. In the 72-hour period the camera had been focused on Shel it had passed over her 17,280 times. Each time until now has captured a lifeless form lying on a surgical table. The female was bare and prone on her back. The camera, which was not aware of, was defined life or death could only detect movement. A job it had not needed to do till now.

            A buzzing, pulsating alarm rung out like a rooster calling to the dawn from the speaker above Shel’s head. She kept calm forming her muscles to twitch harder and faster.  Her arm only needed a pace fast enough to breach the molecular bonds of the straps. She pushed harder against the panic building within her, she knew what would come following the alarm.

            Shel stopped only long enough to catch the ever so faint sound of gas being pumped into the room. The next thing she heard was the click, click, click of an electric igniter.

April Poem Posts

April was National Poetry Month, so I tired to write a poem a day. Here are all the poems I came up with and the dates that I posted them via other social networking sites:

April 30

DOUBT
A poem by Jeff Lee

We held it in the heart and called it truth 
A simple act or idea given taken returned and rewritten
The foundation of actions for which banners are carried and battles are cried 
In effort to build the world around us as something bigger than us
Then the dark came 
It bled into the pure waters we all drank from 
It spilled ink across the clean unwritten pages we held as ideals 
It became the little black spot on the sun that brightened our days
It was the very soul of us all but moved in ways we never thought possible 
It ate at our tables
It drank from our cups 
It played with our children 
It slept in our beds 
A houseguest that became an assumed roommate in the corridors of our minds 
It aged us 
It beat us 
It teased us
It became us 
Our faces were mirrors to it, a place it could check its teeth and brush its hair 
It had merit
It had weight 
It had validity 
It could stand up in court 
It had us 
We gave ourselves to it and asked only for more 
It drove us 
It was us 
And we let it 
Only to find that once we asked what it was it already had bred inside us 
Now there is nothing left but it 
Now all we have is it 
And we will never let it go for it will kill us 
And even death is still feared above it for without it there is no after as there never was a before 
There is no helping us 
There is no holding us 
There is no fixing us
There is no saving us 
There is no us 
There is only it, and we would have it no other way

April 29

Am I am when i am in company 
Am I not when I am alone 
Am I something when seen
Am I nothing in places I've been
Am I feeling when I am entrapped 
Am I hollow when I am un mapped
Am I an idea if I am 
Am I an afterthought if I am not

April 24^th

Some times you find madness 
Some times you find pain 
Some times you find love
Some times you find them all in the same place

April 22

i want nothing from me but fire 
I want nothing from you but presence 
i want nothing from the world but foundation 
I want nothing from eternity but being 
I want nothing from you but you 
I want nothing from me but me 
I want nothing all but nothing but love in a moment 
I want nothing but from us but the endless sea

April 16

Fumbled thoughts, dark delighted deeds
Furious fires, logical tyranny breeds
Tight woven ideas tied constricted heart strings
A man who is mortal shall never be king 
Raged ragged rough yelled mountain tops
Views from above pause angels wing flutters stop 
Merge the merry, merry the worth 
Given to the needy, need those spilled over by mirth 
Die in the moment forever of time 
Seek internal justice for uncommitted crimes
Dark days between moons lighted nights 
Peacefully disclosed hardships set right 
Swoop in from the shadow 
Dance down like the rain 
Sing loudly of harrowed
Laugh shyly upon the profane 
Wake from the madness 
Shower out water run red
Shave close around grown sadness
Dress proudly for the dead

April 15

There once was a maiden so fair 
Whose beauty was far beyond compare
One day her mirror did crash
Throwing bits and shards of glass
Now all she sees is hundreds and hundreds of gnarled glares

A servant quick entered with a broom 
Finding the main showed in gloom 
“The mirror broken and lost” 
“But with each action there comes a cost”
So echoed with darkness a voice foretold of doom

April 14

Funny to find myself here again 
In the places where I am surrounded by friends 
I smile not because I can 
I smile because there is love where I am

Oh to be isolated for so long 
Then to be amongst a chorus singing songs
Voices different but much like mine 
Each full of fire burning bright intertwined 

How could I ever be alone 
When I stand welcome in another’s home
How could I have ever had muscles to make a frown 
While I fall back into their voices ready to drown

Its madness my mind says to me 
We have no worth to merit a feeling of free
Hush I tell it noting in retort for this brains are no so smart
As they gather around I give in and being thinking with my heart

April 12

Dark fall was the name they gave to define 
The end of light when the hour struck nye 
A lasting pitch thick as tar to drown out the sun divine 
A meeting of two endless foes cut a thin bright line

Here forever and now gone in a blink
Leaving stumbling fools bumping against one another
All lost, blinded laid down decaying in stink 
A grand game of hide and seek never lacking in cover

I am told we last with dim light artificial 
Burning the earth so that we may see where we stood
But as the energy died out they blew away like dry thistles 
Dim then to dark we understood we had not done what we should 

It will come back I heard my grandfather say
The planet will turn and shrug it off too warm for its dark blanket
We will all be woken up to that bright glorious day
It has to be true if any of us are to make it 

I comb the hair from his brow while he told me the tale
The once flowing threads now like his heart feeble, tired run thin
I had no heart to tell him that all hope must eventually fail
Yes grandfather on that day our new life will begin 

He passed two days later not that any could tell 
When all is dark and it always will be 
There was no longer sunsets or sunrise or clocks or bells
No point to keep time, no reason to turn a wind up key

I feel asleep at my point no longer after he died
He was my guide and my voice from which I learned all 
I know to be honest I should let myself cry 
I now understood that even the might must fall 

I must has gotten lost in the dream lands that sleep 
I saw places and people all glowing with light 
They were all happy, no moaning, or crying, no sadness no weeps
Then a hand reached out saying come son it will be alright 

I found them both lying under blankets made of straw 
To huddled husks together quiet like babes
These humans so afraid they dug deep in their withdraw
Every day we find more bodies dead hidden in caves

To left out of fear knowing not why they ran
Digging hard and long trying any escape 
So many got lost trying in vain to save their kin and their clan 
Never again seeing light never knowing earths fate

April 11

The sweat smell of her is hard escape 
Wet with morning’s waking dew her scent fills my nose
The sensation of her presence there behind me 
Could there be more fire than in the warmth of her skin
Shivering still as I run my hand gently down exposed flesh 
Sparks bright but unseen strike out with pointed spears raging against my invasion 
I draw breath from her 
My lungs fill with moisture, sunlight and song 
I hold it as long as I can before exhaling 
Knowing the air I take in from her will run rivers of blood through my veins 
She is my life blood and the reason why I still breathe
I inch closer to her wanting to feel the warm rapture of her being
Slowing with caution as to not wake her from silent slumber 
But I move with clumsy actions raising small tremors across the space between us
I shall shake her awake if I am not careful, but could that be what I want all along 
“Hello there stranger,” echoes angels in chorus
“I am sorry, you were just too perfect for me to resist,” I answer feeling shame in my action
“Come closer, rock with me to sleep,” she answers all forgiven and all forgot 
I spread my arms wide to encircle her whole 
I feel every part of her pushing back against me as gravity asks like cupid between us
“There now, could there be anything more natural than this,” she questions 
“No, there is nothing more natural than you,” I return 
She rocks as I roll calling sleep back to cover us with sand 
She is my everything, she is my life, she is my foundation, and she is my lasting memory of heaven 
She is my miles of crossed hell marked by scars defining my soul 
“Never leave me,” she commands 
“Never I shall,” I comply 
Quiet again now she and I are, a moonlight face pressed against the dark blanket of space
She is my earth, and I am her moon 
Without her I am cast upon an endless sea of empty existence 
Without me she has no tide to define shores and no brightness in the pitch of night
We sleep, as we always will, always apart of each other’s orbit.

April 9^th

A funny thing happened on my way to catch a train 
As I exited my home a single cloud acme low bursting forth with turbulent rain
I hailed a taxi but was passed by again and again 
One finally stopped waving my in with face smiling but plain
Once seated I gave directions but was misunderstood to my distain
To the depot on 7th the one painted like amber waves of grain
When asked once again it was my anger I had to restrain 
“The place of the choo choos, hurry up you birdbrain”
I was forced to exit on the corner of 2nd and Main
“By the gods how much more woe could this day possibly contain?”
To answer my question I was hit by a bike which truly rattled my chains
“I am sorry my friend, I did try to avoid you in vain.”
I grumbled a reply thinking of his bike lit brightly by burning butane 
The time running short I took off my leg feeling crippled by pain
Racing down the street I hastily hoped there was time I could regain
My footfalls endless and my thoughts mostly profane 
Street after street passing people and shops while nursing a possible sprain 
Turning a corner there was the glorious sight of the goal I longed to obtain
Crossing the street watching my path keeping my excitement abstained 
I entered the station checking the board only to find that our departure was detained 
I fell back into a bench heavy with grief wishing a condition more humane 
I must had nodded off for I woke to the sounding of bells and a shirt quite wrinkled and tear-stained
“All aboard,” called a porter his voice echoing like an old fashioned bi-plane
I jumped to my feet grabbing my bag putting my feet in front of my midplane
As I made way the idea of departure was one I reluctantly entertained
After all that had happened to be met with discourse surely would drive me insane 
But there it stood glorious shining a smoke stake roaring forth steam like a billowing mane
I entered my cabin and stowed my bag in a locker which was easy to attain
I sat down with relief the worry biting my mind becoming less inane
An elderly chap enter not long after walking supported by old fashion cane
“You look rather haggard, like your journey may be filled with torturous bane?”
I nodded with sly smile aying only, “oh I can’t really complain.”

April 8

Dancing devil drenched in fright 
Fools folly fumbled found cost
Cooks coated concoctions conjuring delights
Dared dim dirge derelict destinations lost
Laughing longing liquid lustful games
Gathering ganders gratefully given boasts
Burning bright boundless flames
Following fluid forthcoming founded toasts
Tearing terror triumph tailed to victors
Valiant verbose vagabonds vocally shout
Sounding songs sung soulfully sound mixers
Making mad mounds multiplied my bout 
Bring bounded backed blank books before me
My most memorable machinations must memories make
Many might masters must make ready
Read rightfully response rate rallied stakes 
Sturdy structured sentences written
With willfully wanting wording given

April 7

Those steps you hear behind you are your past
The footfalls before you are your future
The tip toes along side you are things that will not last
The dances across from you are your culture
The stomping around you is your screaming
The crawling beneath you is your loss
The flying about you is your dreaming
The next step you take may have a cost
The path that you see is your own
So chose how your feet shall fall
Look for guidance from the whispers of you bones
Set your pace only when you hear the right call
The point of life is to keep moving 
Even when it is only to stand in one place 
So know that your journey is not about proving 
It is yours to take hold yours only to look on and face

April 6^th

Crunch sounds dead leaves like fire catching 
The smell of earth and fresh dew hang in the air 
The darkness breaths deep in each hollow 
The ground is uneven alive with its moving 
Each foot fall beats deep foreboding heavy with gloom
It would be madness to stop to listen 
To catch those that linger hidden in the dark
It would be death to be heard 
But the worth far out weights all proposed terror 
The bark on the trees like walls catches ever action 
Each board sending signals as nerves in the hand touching flesh 
Be quiet and see nothing 
Be nothing and keep to the unseen 
A moment to long kept in pondering 
Leads to nothing hung heavy in sacks made for treasure
Then from the shadows comes presence 
A pressure fills our empty space 
Like a shark sensing prey in its wake 
A hunter has entered the room 
Moonlight gives nothing but questions 
Dim beauty it shows catching dust dancing between beams
As light reflects more within than without
Fear of next actions had hearts pounding 
Throats raw stretched clenched holding back shouts 
“I know you are there” comes the voice
A hardness of steal cutting from each spoken tone
“Return to the places you should be resting.”
No raise in volume but each word echoes with boom
The shadow slinks back into true shadow
The pressure in the water has gone
A step from each foot is now taken 
A prize is just around the bend shall be ours
To stop now would end all adventure 
To terry would bring hells wrath upon us
So we move knowing the moment is too soon
Out from the darkness comes form 
A hand outstretched filled with malice 
It takes hold and we know we are doomed 
“Get back to bed little terrors”
“The witching hours has past”
“Go back to your room and find slumber”
“The cookies have all been consumed”

April 4^th

Could it be could it say that it is the dueling ideals that man own foreplay 
To know the right but seek out the wrong 
To set fire to bridges were footsteps still fall
To say the terrible cutting truth of things no one else saw
Are we real human or do we obly play at being men 
When all along we are beasts whose wills cannot bend
Given freedom of law or moral or belief 
To run wild and terrible but washed clean of our grief
I say let loose that howl and bail to the moon 
Call fury and thunder upon those for whom you need doom
Pull back your smile and show us your teeth
Bite deep into flesh to let loose the blood flown beneath 
Am I only a man when I know it is wrong 
Or am I truly a man while my humanity is long gone
Cannot rage birth a river
Cannot anger cause steam
Cannot sadness end screams
Cannot hunger bring solace when our true faces are seen
Is there not light in the darkness 
Is there not blood at first birth 
Is there not pain wrapped in success warmed wholly by mirth 
Am I mad for just thinking I am not only a man 
Am I crazy for believing that I am more than I am 
If my station grows old and my britches confine rather than fit
Should I only buy more to pile on top of my old broke down shit
Or if I gave myself chance to just once feel like the wind
Talk honest and loving to those of my kin
To grab hold of my love and kiss her with endless passion 
To dress my ideas and my person in an animal fashion 
Could I finally be whole 
Could I finally be free
Or would I be locked away for remembering what it should be to be me ?

April 3^rd

I worry about what life is left in these old bones 
I wonder at the knowledge kept in these faded tomes
I want to keep shelter in these dilapidated homes
I wish to understand the wisdom spoken by these aged crones
I worship the magic held in the endless unknown
I wait to put down fires from rage homegrown
I wander the path but seek return to forgotten a hearthstone