Posted in Life, Poetry

Living A Beautiful Life With No Vision

A poem about living life authentically
A mannequin that looks human.
Photo Creds Above

Human’s identify as everything, but realize little.
For people will take above all else, grumbling when they give.
There are those that will not laugh at pain, their love a beacon.
Find those flowers pushing through the cracks to shine for us.

Protect your time, for it will not come again.
Need nothing, for you alone are the source of all you need.
Hiding blind behind a false facade, trying to wade with the masses.
A false reality preventing a life.

Open fresh eyes to the heaven within.
Heaven lives jointly with hell, in a place only you can get to.
Love forever imitates hate, being two sides of the same coin.
Craving real decency above all else, while escaping intimacy.

Take this short life and use it for living.
Drain the tragic well inside of you.
Having no sight with eyes wide open, for sight comes from the heart.
Living is done from within.
Wasted lives spent in vain, searching outwardly for all that is situated within.

Posted in Death, Depression, Grief, Life, Poetry


Two inspirational signs sit behind chain-link fencing. One reads don’t give up and one reads you are not alone.
See above photo credits

Never did she speak her bloody stories.

Vision suffering from depression.

Nobody would know.

Nobody could tell.

Nobody would look.

Complete inaction.

We all are to blame.

Humans worship themselves.

Noticing other souls when convenient.

Success sentences people to happiness.

Not aware other things torch lives.

Feelings kept underground.

Nonchalance makes us careless.

Peace and yielding sometimes comes too late.

Peers talk with distant indifference.

Sitting beside but ions away.

She still speaks with reason.

She must be okay.

Her strangely animated voice heard the latter.

Humanity feels only complacent, never proactive.

Silent, the sadness was blaring.

We are all to blame.

Originally posted November 2020 on Medium

Posted in Life, love, Poetry

All The Little Children

Small and mighty

A mother holds a newborn baby’s feet in her hands.
See above photo credits

This poem was originally posted on Medium. Original posting

The product of a love that will never die.

Note how easy they are to overlook.

Strong but fragile, resilient but breakable.

The seeds of your heart left to run wild.

Let them, before the wildness is banished.

Rearing is much easier when you threaten the unavoidable.

Mothers know that endless loss is the only criteria for parenting.

Fathers know the love will always be unrequited.

And all the parents learned about the small, devastating hours.

Spent wiping tears while spilling them in synchronicity.

Parental allusion for their little people is completely fictitious.

We are all blind to the truths.

Doomed only seeing the love they carry away from our hearts.

As they beat outside of us.