viva la

Another silly poem post
Just because I like to write them most
Perhaps that isn’t true
Then again, who knows why I do the things I do
I don’t know, that’s for sure
The words decide where to go
And my fingers only work to assist
But this is the last you’ll have to endure
The last this month with rhyming flow
The urge for more, I shall resist

boom

They set the charges and light the fuse
And then seem surprised at the explosion that ensues.
Are we failing them or vice versa?
And why must we think of it as winning or losing?
Parenting doesn’t have to add up.
It isn’t a game. There’s no playbook, no ending.
Yet everyone who has ever been one
Thinks their doled expert advice will fix every problem.
The truth surely is far simpler,
Every child is unique and will be raised different.
What worked for the experts
Is a guarantee of nothing but days ill spent.
But this isn’t about that at its core.
It’s about two little hooligans from kingdom lore
Doing everything in their power
To work against the rule of the land, their parents,
And then being reduced to a cower
When facing the consequences their actions rent.

the one that ends in fire

And on the sixth day we rhymed
Because we felt it was about time
To have some fun with words
I know, I know, how absurd
But, here in the Kingdom that’s what we do
When all else fails to inspire
A poem will do the trick
But please don’t let this silliness turn you blue
I’ll soon light this ode on fire
And let it burn to the wick

Let them go

The words dance in my head,
And I listen to them,
And then I let them go.
Because, you know,
Their waltz, you have all said,
Isn’t what you came here for.
They aren’t why I started either,
Though they were always there,
Moving to the beat of the fire,
That burns fiercely,
Blistering my insides,
Never allowed to bubble out.

But, what if I unleashed them,
Set them free to raze,
Would I find relief then?
A lie, a sin,
They would spiral round all prim,
Elegant and impeccable timing,
A show for all to praise and watch,
But even at that hour of the clock,
I would find no peace in the ticks and tocks,
To spill the blaze here,
Would be to disappoint others,
And that pain would be far worse.

So, I shall endure for a time,
As best I can,
With the flames eating my soul.
I’ll hide the toll,
Of this facade, this ruse, this grime,
That is the brave face I wear,
Despite the obvious cracks and tears,
And the holes, where flames grew too near,
Doused quickly to hide my fear,
But the singed edges remain,
And the tatters thin and break away,
Until, I need not worry, for nothing will be left.

“and then *poof* he was gone”

I wanted to write…

I opened a blank page today, determined to write
But the words in my head were at odds with those in my heart
And all my attempts to avoid the brewing fight
Were sabotaged by one or the other before I could even start

On one side: common ground, peace, respect
On the other: anger, blame, selfishness
Without the former our world will be wrecked
But we are too proud to be selfless

I have no magic wand to wave and chant at will
And it isn’t my job to force this world to be better anyway
I have no solution to that which holds us still
But we owe more to each other than the promises we say

My heart sings of optimism, hope, beauty
My head bemoans their absence
Sadly, I know I can trust neither completely
They both are fueled by passion

I opened a blank page today, I just wanted to write
However, I felt no spark to hide truths behind fiction or vice versa
So often turmoil can galvanize thoughts to fight
But all I feel is its grasp, its drain, and its grindingly heavy inertia