In the quiet morning skies, I fly,The world below me passing by,Tired of a city, cold and grey,A place I called my home, but never stayed.

The streets I knew, the faces there,Some lost their warmth, like fading air.The noise, the rush, it wore me down—No comfort found in that old town.

But now I soar, the clouds my guide,To where my heart can safely hide.The city fades, no longer mine,I’m heading home, where stars align.

A real home waits, where peace is near,Far from the past I once held dear.The sky is bright, the day is long,But soon I’ll rest, where I belong.

I will growI will becomeI will knowHow to be someoneWho the world needs me to beHow to set all people freeHow to honour those before meTo be who I'm meant to beI will growI will becomeI will knowHow to help everyoneI will fightFor everyone's rightsI will goUntil this war is won

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We dress up horror to be pretty and darkBright red and soft black and pale whiteWe can't see the devastation that leaves an everlasting markUpon all those who are forced to fightForced to fight the the agonyForced to fight the inequityWe can't see the devastation that leaves an everlasting markUpon all those who are forced to fight

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I seeI seeI see too much and it makes my eyes bleedMakes my throat burn with all the screamsThat will never be able to pass my lips

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They sayIt is a hopeless loveNo joyousBright cloudless skies aboveI sayThe darkness in your soulIt makes mySoft spirit become wholeThey sayYou are a hopeless oneYour spiritIt is destroyed and doneI sayI love all destroyed thingsBrokennessIt makes my heartbeat singSing with all of the life it holdsIn death your life becomes more boldNo future but eternityStretching out before you and meThey sayOur union's without lifeBut I choose your darknessAnd to carry your strife

If you like this piece check out my Mastodon my account is [email protected] I post about human rights, social justice, and the environment.

Enraptured by her

Entombed in her embrace

Encapsulated by her words

Ode to the socks that vanished bright,

In the wash, without a fight,

Leaving singles, lonely and blue,

A mystery, for me and you.

The sock goblins, they must be real,

Stealing mates, with cunning zeal,

Leaving us with solo feet,

A fashion crime, oh so neat.

The fridge, a treasure trove of old,

Leftovers lurking, growing mold,

A science experiment, gone awry,

Forgotten dreams, of a snack-filled sky.

And don't forget, the remote control,

Lost in couch cushions, a magic roll,

A treasure hunt, each time we sit,

To find the clicker, and avoid a fit.

Inspiration: Observations of everyday household chaos, and the quirky, clever ways people cope with it.

"Till Dawn They Weep"

Nothing but tears flow from their faces,

Like rivers of foreign lands into the seas.

The storm's washed away their lives and dreams,

Leaving a stark memory of what used to be.

Grandparents washed out to sea like so much debris,

Children left orphans as their parents are missing for days.

The rushing water unrelenting as winds speed up,

Blowing away their playthings down a flooded street,

Its name unknown as the sign that bore its name is gone as well.

Fire would be a change from this watery hell.

Till dawn they weep,

The morning will bring no relief,

As the world they know is gone.

All the songs and records played this summer

Are now clogging the sewer drains

Along with the people who sang them.

Some of us are lucky; we are far from the storms.

We complain of a little rain,

As we sleep soundly in our beds,

Without a care in our heads,

As a little girl's family lies dead at the end of her road,

Wet and bloated and unrecognizable.

Now she's left for dead as well, to die in the cold.

I can wait forever

For my mother to admit

That somewhere in her cold

Broken

Heart

She still loves me

I can wait forever

For my brother to admit

That somewhere in our dark

Twisted

Past

He forced me to become a man

I can wait forever

For my sister to admit

That somewhere in our strange

Corrupt

Life

She made me a slave

I can wait forever

For my friends to admit

That somewhere in our lost

Painful

World

They stabbed me in the back

I can wait forever

For my mind to admit

That somewhere in my cold

Painful

Brain

A knife slides across skin

I can wait forever

For my life to heal

But I can't wait forever

For them to learn to feel

I can wait forever

To learn to survive

But if I wait forever

Then I'll run out of time

So I could wait forever

And never be alive

Or I could end the story now

When the main character dies

Stress, depression, frustration, loneliness, isolation... the consequences of lacking a source of income. The retaliation of life at all job hunting attempts that collided with the wall of failure,

An omen: I should have fought harder to keep the one I had.

Now I'm on the hunt has me in the palm of its hand all over again,

Placing knocks on doors owned by people who don't even want to set a single gaze on me,

Is my pride striding on the desert? Where is the glowing joy that used to greet me when I rise every sunrise?

The scarcity of money has me feeling like an alien in a world I have dwelled in all my Life.

The shadows of poverty are staring at me, mocking me and chuckling in joy. The state of being broke sells a piece of me to them every day,

I feel like I can just scream so loud that the skies crumble open and rain down a storm with drops made of paper and silver coins.

Wow! Look! A money storm! Wait 'til the banks hear about this,

Imagine a button that you could press to compose to orchestrate a marriage between fantasy and reality,

How long must I travel through the jungle they call '9 to 5', hoping to catch prey that I can call a job.

Stuff it! Let me dig deep into the depths of my imagination. I believe I will mine a blueprint to invent my own source of income,

And so, I declare: with or without a 9 to 5 – the times to wake up after sunrise and find glowing joy waiting for me, shall return,

This war is not over, it's just beginning.

Self-made money storm comin' up!

Pic credit: Pexels