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Anxious in the Afternoon

It occurs to me that the days which I wait for

The minutes I pray for

And the moments from which I expect a new world,

born before my very eyes

are often broken,

empty, illusions,

wobbling back on forth on the table before they fall.

They take advantage of my hope and attention

and draw my silly young mind away,
like any simple, perfect distraction, from

real life.

Illness

It's a new kind of blind

one with many holes and little to explain

Glasses will not remedy this, 

nor will simple medication.

Antibiotics, painkillers, therapy.

What, I ask you, could I take?

so that I could see fully

the cracks in the steel

of the bars

of the cage

of the dark

of the room

I am trapped.

My life went from a pile of stones
With rounded smooth edges,
like soil, like loam

My life went to the worn out concrete
The moss is attacking,
the cracks obsolete

In the flash of a moment, this could happen to you
You could give it all up,
Oh! what tricks life will do

You won’t see as it taunts
And teases your brain
Until its too late!
And your life, full of cracks,
Is crippled with pain.

It Rained All Day

i love this rain.

in the end, it will wash away every evil from the cracks of concrete

break the spirit of every vengeful fire

and ripple as it touches the aging stone.

the downpour will drown your ears with rhythm

and in the mist, you will taste your life, anew.

This World

This world is of course, a beautiful place.
It never stops spinning or spins a day late.
The moving of plates is the only unrest
which could make you believe this world was not blessed.

How blessed was this world?

Its people have love, water and wood.
If they wanted to walk on the moon, they certainly could.
This world is an oasis, it can do no wrong.
Don't listen to cries, hear only this- song.

If you were to yell out, of course you'd be heard.
Soon billions of people would hear of your word.
For in places of desolate, continuous pain,
all human beings set aside their own gain.

Don't be confused when upon horror you stumble,
or be weary when you hear the occasional mumble
of peace, change and hope for all.
Some of us just must take the fall.

How blessed is this world?

Please, examine the world today
Use all you have in you, stand up to say:
"I haven't seen the things I've heard,
and choose to believe the non absurd."
This world was built for more than this
but til pain ceases, there will be no bliss.

Chords

My hands aren't pressing the piano keys
the way I want them to.
Sometimes, I can get a melody out of them.
Even less often, there is a delicate moment
in which
I stop thinking about letters and patterns
more letters and more patterns...
and hear the chain of beauty that my timid fingers created.
But not right now.

My eyes aren't seeing myself
the way I want them to.
They play tricks on me,
tricks on my emotions.

My mind isn't answering the dry, repetitive SAT questions
the way I want it to.
The answers spin around me in circles as I drift away from letters and numbers
more letters and more numbers..
Maybe some things should stay unsolved by letters and numbers.
Stop solving things, stop giving me answers.
I want to be in limbo, leave me here.