What I bring.

With his pencil,

to strike a match, light a flame,

To the words he used today,

Ignite in the souls of reader's thoughts

To burn quietly of lessons taught,

Anarchy in the mind, Nirvana for the soul,

To retain, to hold,

Strong words in BOLD,

As a writer, as a mentor, as an artist

He feels the need,

On paper, on canvas, on sheet, he bleeds,

For you, for him, for her, for them,

His/Her mind and soul to bend,

Twists and turns on this jagged edge,

Shattering thoughts lived on a ledge,

Every piece, every thought, every rhyme,

Hidden behind mental walls of granite and lime,

Waiting to break out or break in,

You, and shakes what is within,

Potential, to laugh, to cry, to sing,

As an artist, this is what I bring.

Heart Strings

Show me where you lost your heart
And I'll find it for you
But all these strings on my guitar
Won't solve this
For you.

I can't breathe.

The year of 2014,

New York is suffocating under its own foundation,

Chants and hymns rumble under the hustle and bustle,

United Yankees under the banner,

Singing in unison “I can’t breathe”,

Warm bodies fill the streets,

Blanketing the cold harshness of the truth,

As the cold bodies of children and parents alike,

Litter the pavement, covered up in newspaper print,

Front page terrorism on the home front in bold,

Muffled screams behind a CAPSLOCKED chokehold,

Backyard politics delegating which slab of meat gets the better end of the weighing scale,

Dark or light,

A mystery in brutality,

The legality of illegal measures taken as,

200 years of violence, silenced.