POETRY: Lust by Reggie Drake

It was that supreme being.

That spoke to me through crescent light.

Distinguished in her mannerisms,

And humble in her walk.

She glowed.

Glowed with the radiance and beauty of a wild flower,

Waiting to be plucked by cultivated hands.

I appeared infinitesimal in correlation with the majesty of her aura.

The warm serenity of her smile.

The soft tenderness of her touch...

And I pined for her.

My desire wrestled with the moon for its resplendent gleam,

So I could lay the boundless, preeminent ray upon her fair countenance.

My yearning,

Eager to glow the mystical luminescence of love in its purest form through transcendent moonlight.

I want to be, my love,

Your sweet Elixir.

The cure for all your aches and pains.

Covet me,

As I covet you,

Hold me close as I have dreamt in many dreams

Or release me from this clockwise slumber.

So I feel not the throbbing pain buried beneath my chest.

Extinguish the fire burning within my soul,

And quench my insatiable desire;

For you.

I lust.

With the ceaseless vigor of an inherent sinner,

Having tasted the waters of vice and choosing,

To remain in a perpetual state of corruption.

I lust.

With the vitality of an old patriarch probing through vast regions in search of the fountain of youth.

Vainly seeking that which cannot be found;

Just as I have vainly sought your Heart.

Your Mind.

Your Soul.

Peel apart the layers of my flesh and gaze upon the remnants of a lost soul.

For without love I am simply a broken shell,

Strewn about your vast shore.

Never again able to savor the aphrodisiac,

Of my Divine Dream.

Inspired by Pablo Neruda

POETRY: First Sight by Reggie Drake

When I saw her it was like....

The culmination of long concealed felicity bursting through the confines of my heart,

Sprouting like a shovel striking an undiscovered well.

I felt it.

The sensual energy generated by our adjacent bodies in close proximity.

It sends chills down my spine,

As I picture us,

Living out the days of our youth,

Aloof to otherworldly worries and issues,

Choosing to remain trapped voluntarily within a realm of blissful unawareness.

I see us holding hands in later years,

Even with our faces withered with wrinkles,

And the corporal aspect of our intimate affiliation fading like dusk into dawn.

I could never leave this.

I will NEVER leave you.

The moment your gaze became fixated on mine... I knew

At that moment my heart and yours became one in the same;

Joint-locked in virtual space where it appeared no one but you and me existed,

Like two star-crossed lovers intertwined in the web of fate.

It was destiny.

The contingency of our happen chance meeting.

My coincidental glance.

All of it choreographed by heavenly specters gently lowering their guiding eyes down upon us mere mortals,

Initiating our union into holy matrimony.

All of this I knew...

The moment I walked past you.

POETRY: I Lost My Passion For Writing...... By Cheryl A. Baldwin

sleep!
all i wanna do is sleep.
but all i can do is weep.
.......over the lost of you

cry!
all i can do is cry....
to rid my body of what i feel inside.
..........because words cannot decribe you

dying!
i really feel like dying....
eventhough i tried denying, i cant....
........because i know i could've saved you

write!
all i had to do was write.
to keep the feeling alive....!
but i chose to stop.
........because someone didnt like you

decieved!
i was so decieved.....
.......into thinking that you didnt matter

so believe!
all you have to do is believe....
and know that in your heart
........you will never be alone.

POETRY: The Counterbalance by Reggie Drake

A picture perfect portrait,

Of social and economic corrosion.

Depression turns suburban street corners,

Into loitering lounges as streetwalkers work avenues for daily revenue.

Base bumpers and trunk thumpers prance down public venues,

As if to announce the arrival of some risque parade.

A dying fragment in America's brain child.

Ignorant young cats throw rocks at the crazy lady down 8th street

And the neighboring drunk stands on his stoop uttering countless maledictions and blasphemies,

In a single incoherent slur.

A man who once had a dream, a vision,

Now reduced to a meandering, heineken-wielding guttersnipe.

Eviction notices plague houses like the spectre of death.

Dozens of denizens crowd into sanctuaries surveying the sermonizer,

As if they were mere mortals gazing upon Michael the Archangel,

Desperate to find solace and reprieve from the hard knocks of life.

Eager to escape the violence and corruption of the home created by human hostilities.

But amid the decay lies the self-starting artist,

Who endeavors to to better his craft.

As society crumbles he flourishes;

Eager to paint the vivid picture of this peculiar predicament through his work.

He is neither perturbed nor disturbed by the drunk roaring his random rambles;

Nor does the altercation down the hall break his ironclad concentration.

He works magic with his pencil as he abracadabra's shapes and contours on his notepad.

And despite the chaos and disorder outside;

He simply exists to continue his art,

And bring beauty,

To a dying world

POETRY: LOVE by Reggie Drake

The cornerstone of human nature.

The epitome of euphoria.

Too vivid and profound to characterize this prodigious emotion,

Yet the meaning is minimized by redundant utterances proclaiming this sacred affection.

Represented by hallmark cards expressing intimacy with the symbolic and depreciated heart.

It is abused and abandoned when forlorn lover delve into a carton of ice cream,

Unable to bear the silent "rip" of their torn heart sinking to the floor.

It is seen in the faces of adolescent youth and seasoned seniors,

Engaged in trivial conversation about the happenings of the world.

It booms bold when hands hold,

Forming a silent tryst amidst the boisterous banter,

Of old familiars rejoicing in reunion.

Present, yet intangible,

Existing eternally since the foundation of the world.

Pen and pad cannot hope to etch a silhouette of frame of mind in its prime,

A simple word yet so hard to define.

The apotheosis of human emotion,

And the entity that unites and touches lives.

The lifesaver of human fallibility and weakness.

The Great Equalizer.

POETRY: REGRET by Reggie Drake

Sometimes we take things for granted.

The small things we overlook with snooty faces,

Never seeing the full picture,

And always looking past the underlying message.

Fathers and Mothers break their backs to mollycoddle,

To spoil children,

Who return this well-intentioned parental affection with an undying desire for more.

Never satisfied.

Grandfathers breath life into lifeless anecdotes of times gone by,

To instill sagacity and values into grandson's,

Who in return, pursue hedonistic lifestyles,

As if to rebel against the presumed wisdom of the old;

Like the prodigal son who's morals expire amidst carnal desires.

Adam and eve had everything they could ever need,

When it all collapsed like a utopia corrupted by human err,

When Eve received the fruit of sin that ensued God's wrath.

The art in life is to get it.

But we can't seem to get it.

Juveniles flunk fast and infect streets with deadly doses of poison packed drugs;

Doing "business" that has no business being done.

If only they had listened to Uncle David that one time when he said,

You live by the sword you die by the sword.

Uncle Dave is starting to make sense now isn't he?

Now that life if falling apart,

And you can barely hold it together by the string it sits upon;

Only now looking back through the looking glass;

Only now seeing what the mind could not previously discern....

He finally understands.

Affliction floods the inner chambers of his conscience like a broken dam,

Eager to conceal devastating water.

Uncle Dave never existed.

He was simply a spiritual guide inside the mind that differentiates right and wrong.

Important diminutive details were omitted by his outermost arrogance,

And he failed to perceive what inwardly he already knew.

He now sees and wishes he could break free.

But he is enclosed by the compact walls of his prison cell.

POETRY: LOVE by Reggie Drake

The cornerstone of human nature.

The epitome of euphoria.

Too vivid and profound to characterize this prodigious emotion,

Yet the meaning is minimized by redundant utterances proclaiming this sacred affection.

Represented by hallmark cards expressing intimacy with the symbolic and depreciated heart.

It is abused and abandoned when forlorn lover delve into a carton of ice cream,

Unable to bear the silent "rip" of their torn heart sinking to the floor.

It is seen in the faces of adolescent youth and seasoned seniors,

Engaged in trivial conversation about the happenings of the world.

It booms bold when hands hold,

Forming a silent tryst amidst the boisterous banter,

Of old familiars rejoicing in reunion.

Present, yet intangible,

Existing eternally since the foundation of the world.

Pen and pad cannot hope to etch a silhouette of frame of mind in its prime,

A simple word yet so hard to define.

The apotheosis of human emotion,

And the entity that unites and touches lives.

The lifesaver of human fallibility and weakness.

The Great Equalizer.

POETRY: Poetic Soul by Reggie Drake

A poet's soul is obscure.

Hidden beneath a veil that conceals but not obstructs the maze inside.

The unpronounced voice within speaks in a thousand different words,

spewing colorful and expressive images upon plain white sheets.

The poet is taken to a place.

A place where ideas, thoughts, and feelings,

Can be freed from the mind's prison and released,

Like a caged bird eager to spread its wings and fly.

Can you truly know a poet when he confides in his pad,

And utters only his most deepest contemplations in its understanding ear.

Where he is free from the subjectivity, bias, and criticism that plagues society?

The fire in a man's soul can be set ablaze in the form of imagery and metaphor.

Complex ideas that never reach human ears,

But remain locked inside the poetic soul.

The complexity of these cryptic thoughts,

The order of symbolic phrases,

All personify the vital force that curbs its insatiable appetite,

Pain, Pleasure, Fear, Joy, Thoughts, Feelings

Anything residing in the recesses of the psyche

Anything the poet conceals and hides,

Confides in the soul.

But is this silent utterance really speech,

When such imaginative and creative cognitive thought is trapped and muffled behind the suffocating walls of a Poetry Book;

The Last Great Escape from persecution that the poet shamelessly hides behind.

At some point these words,

These beautiful, resplendent words,

Must escape their solitary confinement.

How long can the soul encumber the overbearing weight

Of a voice echoed constantly over and over again.

Never reaching the pinnacle of its ascension.

Let these silently spoken words loudly bellow to the masses below,

And let those transcendent, angelic wings that once resided within branch out,

And cover regions with its radiant glow.

Let it speak.

Let the poetic soul speak.

POETRY: Sweetest Taboo by Reggie Drake

It was passion.

It was love.

It was sin.

Hidden from the eyes of onlookers.

A forbidden vice that has permanently stained a solid A across the confines of my heart.

Yet, it was the sweetest taboo.

That night, passion and transgression meshed together like a dark black mixed with fiery red,

As I craved the carnality of her flesh,

The feel of her sensuous being,

My eyes committing idolatry after gazing upon the godliness of her image.

The lasciviousness of our union, of our sin..... was distasteful.

Am I one with the indecorous and hedonistic sinner?

No better than licentious men who eagerly open the red doors of the house of ill repute?

No, our love tasted bitter sweet.

The magnetism of our conjoining bodies was not of just baseless lust, but of excitement

To do what is so commonly viewed as taboo.

To prance about the borders of morality.

To feed off the sexual energy stemming from this illegal contraband.

Enjoying, just for a moment, the exhilarating heterodox nature of our passion.

Then,

Just like that,

In the twinkling of an eye....

I was back.

Back to following structured protocols and abiding by societies pre-ordained standards and procedures.

But i'll never forget that night.

That night, I experienced a secret enchantment.

The sweetest taboo.

POETRY: Mistakes by Reggie Drake

Mistakes.

errors that can easily be erased on pad, but in life,

You live with the decisions you make.

Its a shame young and foolish are associated in the same breath.

DUI's result in lost lives when, unfortunate souls are stampeded upon by gaudy gas guzzlers with drivers thinkin "my bad", then dash off like nothing happened;

Like there isn't a man or a woman laying in the street covered in their own blood;

Like there isn't one less person in the world.

You do the crime but you pay for it in your mind cuz your conscience won't allow you to forget the unforgettable and avoid the moans and wails of the deceased etched into the fabric of your mind.

Maybe its better to die than to live on in a world of habitual sin, where prejudices prevent friendships and,

Violence is ready to bust out at every corner..... like gang gunfire and deadly drive-bys.

Yea you've seen it, friends lashin out with verbal bullets and knives about somethin somebody told someone else.

Superfluous retellings that distort and deform the message until it is nothing like the original.

Black on black crime;

All those years of fighting to gain freedom and what do we do when we obtain it?

we fight and destroy one another,

making a mockery of the sacrifices those before us made.

Suffering for days upon days so that we could see the land of the free as it was meant to be.

Would we take it back if we could?

Would the scrupulous thief rob that same store if he knew 10 years later it would land him in prison for life?

Old men lay motionless on their deathbeds wishing they could turn back the hands of time and tell that one special person how much they loved them.

Would the rigid turn soft?

Men tough like a brick wall claiming crying makes a man soft.

Sometimes you have to cry to release the pain brought upon by the heavy hand of the world on your shoulders.

Sometimes you have to cry when life gives you more than you can take and the frailty of your flesh can't bear the weight.

You had to cry before you could walk when the doctor spanked you on your bottom to see if you were on the up and up.

We can't take back what we say or do because Time never stops;

It flows freely like a waterfall;

Past the turbulence it encounters along the way.

Regret is a weight that encumbers the soul for an eternity;

So live right and die old.....

And happy

POETRY: Music by Reggie Drake

The fast and repetitive backbeat drifts me through a world of melodic bliss.

Rhythmic sounds pulsate throughout my body generating a melange of emotions ranging from joy and sorrow, to pain and pleasure.

An overlapping orgy of instruments blending together to perfectly create the creator of beautiful sound.

A sound so innovative my love for it never wanes even though I may go days without hearing its soft lips perched upon my ear, softly humming that sweet melody that leaves me enraptured, as im taken to a place where i can escape and find peace.

Overdosing on this stress reliever I pop these audible pills to feel my feeling expressed,

In excess over somber sounds or bombastic beats rebounding and ricocheting inside my ear canal.

Counterbalancing the chaos created by the cacophony of life.

Harmonious hymns generate rifts in this cacophony;

creating....

Sound's flare

POETRY: Poetry by Reggie Drake

The Ultimate Art.

Twists and integrates parallel components into a single, breathing entity.

Like the painter who uses pencils and pastels to form his masterpiece,

black and white transforms into blues and yellows and,

2-d transmutes to 3-d creating images so dynamic they appear to pop off the page.

Capable of speaking without an utterance, this art form betokens unspoken expression.

An outlet for artistic impulses the pulsate rhythmically throughout the body and onto paper.

Powerful presumptions of times gone by, of emotions that have been secluded and confined behind human frame of mind.

Words weaving and ducking and twisting and turning into something unimaginable....

Life after Death:

The unspoken spoken word

POETRY: Forgotten by Reggie Drake

Leave me now.

You rainy, downtrodden days where,

My head used to lay in silent agony upon the withering perch.

I fade.

And Lose myself in melancholy beats and drown in the perpetual river of my own self-inflicted despair.

Laying back on granddad's rocking chair and drifting off into a seemingly everlasting slumber.

A distortion of colors and images formulate into nightmares and frightening memories of

Those rainy, downtrodden days where I lay.

Hoping and praying upon the self-luminous cosmos that decorate the monotonous night for peace of mind and a reprieve;

From yesteryears mistakes and missteps that I have repeated so incessantly that they have become habitual.

I cant stop,

but I want to,

or do I?

My mind and my body becoming the antithesis of one another; paradoxes like a hedonistic malcontent.

Negative pictures and images have been re-modified into positive ones with a little cropping here and editing there;

And a lot of self-reflection that brings the panorama of my inner essence together

Forget me,

Just as i have forgotten you,

You dismal memories of how I used to be.

How I used to think,

how i used to breathe,

how i used to live.

All i discard from the garb that now covers and conceals a silent rebirth.

Ancestors used to roll but now they smile in idyllic graves at the sight of me in my newest form.

Some memories you cherish forever within the picture frame in your mind,

But others you forget.

Just as i have finally forgotten.

POETRY: Untitled by Reggie Drake

It was a placid day in Fall;

And a monotonous one.

The world seemed to slow down and revolve counterclockwise as today started looking more and more like yesterday.

The vivid color of the world would dissipate as the black and white of night crept through the celestial sphere that surrounds the repetitive cycle that has come to embody my everyday life.

Its like deja vu over and over again.

Seeing similar faces in familiar places starts to put a toll on my soul as a yearning for something more; something different, begins to take over.

I start searching,

And wandering.

Hoping for a break in the familiar and the emergence of an unpredictable phenomena to stem the incessant tide.

I find nothing.

Nothing but the colorless, insipid society I have come to loathe.

The prosaic structure of secular education drags on for seemingly forever,

As i silently wait for the ensuing bell to toll its dreary toll.

Walking waywardly home, I remember.

Time began to stop; or it seemed to.

It all happened so fast, like a blur, the expeditious arrival of a deadly jet black convertible collides and pulverizes my left side.

I lay motionless.

My heartbeat suddenly stops and i experience a shortness of breath.

..... The world seems so different now.

I see the color of the sirens and the cries from animated faces shrieking in horror.

My eyes close into slits as the newness of this environment fades into a blur.

The subsequent blackness enshrouds me;

And I have never felt more alive.

POETRY: Doppleganger by Reggie Drake

I hear silence... and then a creak.

Moonlight glistens through the window of my chamber and my ear picks up the door,

Closing ever so softly and slowly,

Foreboding the ominous entry of an anomaly that has anonymously breached the sanctity of a shelter, that has existed or rather co-existed with the timeless, shadowy night.

I tiptoe across the slippery floor.

I hug the walls of my abode and the sharp, repetitious thud of my heartbeat becomes a stark contrast to the deadly silence that has come to personify these dark hours.

I feel a draft.

A chill envelopes the air as i approach my unsuspecting invader.

He turns and I stare, his frightening persona terrifying yet familiar.

I see myself in his eyes, a mirror-like reflection of my inner most evil.

Inwardly I shutter at the sudden realization that we are two halves of the same whole,

juxtaposed together for the first time like black and white; light and dark.

My mind goes in a hundred different directions as I struggle to put together the pieces of my peculiar predicament.

This stranger,

This doppleganger,

An image generated by my psyche,

A personification of that inner self I had locked away long ago.

I shutter at the thought as a sudden loss of mental awareness sends me spiraling to the floor gracefully and eloquently like the white swan; with the dramatic theatrics of one clad in black.

...........

Three days.

Four.

I lose count, as i awake to white walls and dozens of doses and medications.

POETRY: 'BURN' by Janae LaGayle Byrd

let us burn
let us sizzle in the cracks , but then i think back
back to what we were
back to the good times
back to the bad times
back to the love that kept us inseparable
but then i fast forward to the us i know now
to the person i once upon a time couldn't live without
you
see faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
now you're a faded picture , and I'm just a subtle day dream
see now you're my bestfriend , and although we'll love each other to the end
i sometimes think of the us back then , the us that burned a indefinite place in my heart
sometimes i can't get over that we are apart
see, i didn't die physically but emotionally i was buried
and its funny now because I'm back on top , and better than you will ever be

CopyRight 2011 | Janae LaGayle Byrd

POETRY: 'PEOPLE' by Robert Drake

It was all over the news,
another reason why
society deplored my People.
Frenzied images of a horde
that ravaged the television
screen advised children to shield
their eyes and
the smell of blood fumigated the
room so that it became our
oxygen.
This symphony of
death and revolution was
contrite, yet intricately beautiful
like
*the shattering of glass against something unforgiving.*
Unforgiving like the
callous nature of the government
believed to protect us
but instead deject us
and reject us
like aborted babies and
youth that refused to grow old.
Fear of the future
haunt our present
and catapults our eternal spirits
into a vortex of spiraling insecurity
and mass panic.
The tenor of the bard of death
signals the knell of the Reaper
who even weeps
at the blood that seeps
from the cheek
of my People,
who battle and scourge each other
until they couldn't
breathe happiness nor love.
My People, who are People,
not a race, but a brilliance
that stands for its own light
and not by
the darkness that
festers and
takes its own
blood.

CopyRight 2011 | Robert Drake
*inspired by "Shattered" by Benache Dore*

POETRY: 'PEOPLE' by Robert Drake

It was all over the news,
another reason why
society deplored my People.
Frenzied images of a horde
that ravaged the television
screen advised children to shield
their eyes and
the smell of blood fumigated the
room so that it became our
oxygen.
This symphony of
death and revolution was
contrite, yet intricately beautiful
like
*the shattering of glass against something unforgiving.*
Unforgiving like the
callous nature of the government
believed to protect us
but instead deject us
and reject us
like aborted babies and
youth that refused to grow old.
Fear of the future
haunt our present
and catapults our eternal spirits
into a vortex of spiraling insecurity
and mass panic.
The tenor of the bard of death
signals the knell of the Reaper
who even weeps
at the blood that seeps
from the cheek
of my People,
who battle and scourge each other
until they couldn't
breathe happiness nor love.
My People, who are People,
not a race, but a brilliance
that stands for its own light
and not by
the darkness that
festers and
takes its own
blood.
*inspired by "Shattered" by Benache Dore*
CopyRight 2011 | Robert Drake

POETRY: My Unfinished Thoughts (Bad Habits pt2) By Cheryl A. Baldwin

I feel like an addict,
you know.
i need my fix
i need my fix
feeling these insatiable erges
telling myself no dont do it!
your better than this.....
like im trying to hide this identity in my mind
only for it to reserect new thoughts in my head
and,
and
implode!
Waking up outta my sleep i feel so guilty
like id just committed the ultimate crime to myself
but all i did was dream.......
fantasized about lifes most lustful plesures
doubted myself and worse of all God
saying why is this happening to me Lord......
have i broken 10 the commandments given to me?
have i forsaken thine Holy name Lord........?
what is it.......
you promised to protect me from this infatuated world Lord
but right now the only thing i need protection from.....
is me....
i cry
feeling internally conflicted
binded by the feelings of my heart ,
and restricted by the inclinations of my mind
So Confused!
not knowing wether to be mad at myself
or sad because i cant control what i feel on the inside

POETRY: 'Acceptable Logic?' by Ana Hagins

One’s purity is sacrificed when the pressures of this world begin to overpower their God-given morals. It’s not because they can’t resist such temptations, it’s just that they have a desire to be like what they see in the cinemas. Innocence is only a short-lived factor. In actuality, its existence is so brief that it’s almost just a figment of the imagination.

The true problem is that the perverse generation is our generation. There are elementary students calling their peers gay. Seriously? Do you even know the difference between a boy and girl? Aren’t you like two? But can you really blame a kid for something they learn outside of school?

Youth is temporary and so is the innocence that comes with it, or that use to come with it, rather. Once some type of corrupt knowledge is obtained then comes the application. “How does this apply to me?” they ask. What protection can you really give? Parents can try to guide, guard and protect all they want but in the end if your kid wants to know bad enough they can find an answer to all their questions somewhere else. It may not be the most comforting thing in the world to know, but you should know. There’s a purity deficit and it’s infecting young minds faster than bacteria.

I honestly think that it’s not necessarily the fact that kids want to be X-Rated, it’s just that it’s the “new black”, an “alternative lifestyle”, and because some people are “just born this way.” Acceptable logic? I didn’t think so, but I don’t see why it couldn’t be since this seems to justify everything else.

What’s the point in being upset about it now if that’s how they’re going to turn out anyways? I mean, it’s just them getting a head start, right? You want your babies to be the best at whatever it is they choose to do in life, so why not just let them start early? I guess there’s just something wrong with that type of behavior at this age. So what changes its level of approval when you get older?

Wrong is always wrong. Right is always right. Wrong is never right, and right is never wrong.

Acceptable logic?

POETRY: 'Rising Tide' By Kabriel Moorehead

Rising Tide
by Kabriel Moorehead

As one night ends
A new day dawns over the horizon
A moment that is as full of hope and pride
As past ones
Yet in a certain aspect different from all the rest
Somehow this coming moment is more assured
Patient, as it has stood the test of time
And shown that it is worthy to wear the most sacred of crowns,
That of the victor
The hero, the history maker, the champion
Acknowledged by most as either a once in a lifetime achievement
Or a monumental collapse
The dawn has finally arrived
A new class will assume the throne once looked upon with hopelessness
With a new sense of immortality and remembrance
The time has come for the sun to rise upon a new day
And illuminate our dreams

Copyright 2011| Kabriel Moorehead

POETRY: 'Class of 2011 Student Message' by Bryeon Jones

We’re all here for one reason or another
We’ve made it by way of our faith
And the love of our fathers and mothers
Now you must forge a brand new path
From the hidden curriculum that taught you
That you are not only a part of the math,
But a piece of history in the making
Only through careful study of the past and present
Will you be prepared for the mysterious future you’re facing
Determination, Dedication, Motivation
Hear me, my young inspirations
When I say that we are living in a privileged nation
Don’t confine yourselves to the same circle of familiar faces
Break down those barriers of culture, language, and races
Open your hearts and expose your souls to the world
No longer are you little boys and girls
Through hard work and sacrifice,
You have matured and grown
Now you must look to the interests of others
As well as your own
Use your strengths
To help those who are weak
At the least,
We are living in an era of violent peace
So, what I would like to see
Is you live not by the sword,
But by the sheath
Conduct yourselves with dignity and integrity
And like rods mounted on the tops of the highest peaks,
You will stand tall and erect,
And be struck by en-lightening
If in 10, 20, or 30 years, we should meet
Whether at a formal gathering
Or casually walking down the street
When I look deep
Into your eyes
I hope to find
Not only the spirits of former Blue Devils
But also angels
Soaring to entirely new levels
But if by some unforeseen event,
Your wings are clipped,
If only by the sheer force of your will
Or the glory of your grit
Promise me that you will never,
Ever
Fall

*Interpolations from J. Ivy "Never Let You Down"

Copyright 2011| Bryeon Jones