Falter at Never

Children need no appeal.

An ear, a voice, a stand,

most definitely.

For at that point, no genius helps.

For what good would such a talent be?

When crushed by family.

A heart to give, a soul to take,

it is easier to say these days.

The years have passed; blindly I stare.

At nothing, but, "I'm hosed."

A cold and hardened plight,

it does grow rather old.

So many years to put away,

all before my 18th birth arrived.

When Legal hit a freedom fight

to breath the air of might!

Hours never passed, the minutes held the time.

In negativity I did count

the seconds of my wealth waned.

I found the struggle incomparable.

NEVER, put pen to paper.

Certainly do not speak with voice.

The levity of such a crime

brought beatings with no choice.

My spine is racked with pain.

The daily grind I bare that's mine.

In spite of all of you,

I knew the term....

Begin again.

A Direction of Difference

 

Waiting at the end?

Don't.

No reply is ever needed,

if you cannot rely on any one person to show.

Assumptions seem to layer most of the minds today.

In death you think the same way too.

Your curiosity, it seems,

still does interest me.

Why would "They" be waiting?

A relative, you persist.

Do you take so readily?

That which you hear; Exists?

Why than do you sharply

turn from other words of difference?

Not only do you close your mind,

but, you stop!, to turn away at any and all kinds of different thought of the same or similar.

Renouncing all that is said,

do you even read?

Any word? Or maybe just one?

No, you judge and throw behind this verse,

so blindly you disregard.

Underneath this cruelty

that the critics seem to spew.

Even more of this new dynamic thought,

it just seems to bother you.

Is it the unspoken language heard?

The never written verse?

A Riddle in the making,

or, the unending of perverse?

Could it be the very,

indecent proposal of,

what is not just supposed,

but, spoken and written in Love?

Confusion does not merit,

an interest in my life.

For if you were to tarry,

you would find I'm not so nice.

I charge for all my mights.

I will come both day and night.

I am so simply bored,

with assumptions and the more.

It seems there's always digging:)

A delightful excitement breeds,

not just for the anxious,

but for the curious I see.

Fight the impending tide,

of all that read, not type.

You get for free a show from Me

of wonder and delight.

Am I so uptight? A Riddler that just likes?

Of course I must be, but do I sound,

I pose the question lightly,

for I write only, what challenges me, upon this Earth tonight.

I write the words and develop the prose that causes so much strife.

Do you ever seek?

That which is "The Meek?"

For if you do not possess,

a talent or a test,

than left you are for all of them

and Death is left for Me.