Why do you always have a gun?We'll never think what you did was rightnow there is chaos and fire tonightTell me, oh tell me, did you really have fun?Tell me, oh tell me, why do you always have a gun?Was it truly not hard for you to pull the trigger?Do you feel like a hero, do you feel bigger?Well, raise your flag of lies, with you it will burnAnd nothing will save you, not even your gunAre you genuinely afraid of the people you oppress?Are we all to blame if your brain is a mess?If you think we can hurt you look at all you have doneDo you still believe it's ok to have a gun?But we people are rising, we ran out of fearWe are all together, we are tired, we are hereYou can try to disperse us but we won't be goneFor we no longer care if you carry a gun
NothingEverything is so messed updon't ask me, I don't want to talk.Nothing has ever been less rightbut I won't cry, I just want to write.
One Special NightThe winter´s night was crisp and clear,the heaven full of starsand all the ones who saw the signs,came there from near and far.They followed one bright shining star,to a place called Bethlehem.To a stable on the edge of townand Joseph beckoned them in."Look!" He cried with tears in his eyes."Mary´s had a child.""He´s wonderful, so precious. Stayand behold him for a while.""He will grow to be a good man,clever, wise and mild.""He´ll teach the world about love andto have faith in all mankind."Joseph smiled as his head did nodand this he also said,"This child is someone special,for he was sent to us from God." Poetry by Suzan
Christmas LightsTwilight moments between night and dayAre quiet and cold in winter's graspIn suburban solitude I strollOn the frigid eve of Christmas dayThat tranquil silence and touch of frostIs what drew me from within my homeIntrospection presses upon meWith the urgency of a soft breezeSo rare an occasion has pavementSeemed inviting upon which to treadBefore long all that lights my pathwayAre street lamps and tacky Christmas lightsWhat pathetic form of vanityWould compel a family to throwA tasteless assortment of light bulbsOn their home in so-called Christmas cheer?I slow down and linger near the houseDisplaying the most exuberanceA quick glimpse through the window revealsA tree heavily decoratedPlaced next to the glass for all to seeAre they so vain that they would indulgeWhat has become a stereotypeOf this nation's seasonal culture?Continuing on my night saunterI stare down the rod ahead of meInstead of the ornate vanityWith which these strangers strike my sensesThe n
Bushels of GreenThe day we start rememberingIs the day we grow oldFor wisdom takesThe years we did not knowBreath of beasts and bushels greenCoincide to mingled lifeInhaled neededWith its entire strifeRunning feet with nails biteRocks of smoothened waterWash the timeIn tears of fear and laughterOculus and hearing cueTask the dullards to recordFor without themThe mind cannot exploreHands of fists and open palmsEscape with nothing heldMaterialityBehaves to strip the spelledThe day we start rememberingIs the day forgottenAnd never attainedFor already tomorrow is thenLungs to scream a whispered cryTrees that speak like usSee themselvesWith repetition's lustNot the empty shade of veilTo cover dead in sailing shipsOff and goneLike winds off of our lipsKimberlite as cool as bonesDeposits lightened byNo force we abled understandTo sleep where we can lieClouds of rain of wet or shadowHang to solve the heat of mornBut so darkenAnd make retrospect rebornThe day we start re
Before the Fallen BattlefieldBefore my spears can make a shieldBefore my swords can make a maceLet them be my pensAnd writeOf a future battle graveBefore my cinders make a smokeBefore my char turns dust in windLet it be my fireAnd burnOn a fuel of all my sinBefore my globes turn black obscureBefore my candles blackened turnLet them shine a wayAnd showWhat left I must discernBefore my mount has slung its kneeBefore my arm has unslung freeLet it prophesizeAnd pointWhere fallen I will beBefore my end arrives in forceBefore my tale arrives in blurLet it be mine keptAnd grievedUntil my last sojourn
ArachneSpinyour silkof rhythm,weave tapestrieswith your thread of words;imagery createdfrom an alphabet of dreams,your skill rivaling Athena's;the condensation of all our sighsgets caught in your network of poetry.
How to be happy.Wash away the webs, clean your wounds,and whiten your smile.Break your mirrors,dump the contents of your makeup drawer,and dry your face of your tears.Burn away the wax inside of you,listen to the gales of the wind god,breathe deeply and dispel your worries,and understand that it could always be worst.Understand that there are people there for you,and they always will be.
Just another complaintI haven't understood the basis of my nature,I haven't understood the meaning of my life.I don't have an extended sight far towards my future,I'm just always feeling that I'm running out of time...