The man who killed the evil man.
What was his fate?
There was no heroic applause.
There was no fanfare of any kind.
The man who did the great deed,
he was sick and tired of it all.
Years away had caused the man emotional pain.
His wife did not love him.
His children did not know him.
He left the honorable trade.
However the entity that supported him no longer did.
His health and that of his kin is left to chance.
Stuck with no options or hope.
Because he served an uncaring nation.
I am so glad that I won the first place at the Love Poetry Contest this year, with my favorite work called “Retainment” which was also my first post on this blog.
People talk about love all the time, however, nobody could tell what love really is. I think love is a piece of poem – not too long, but really profound. I love writing poems because every word talks and contains it’s own feeling.
Love is a poem – the memory you can remember forever after you read it and understand it. And i have to say, it is not easy.
Everyone is talking about love in their own definitions. Throughout history, poets write about love, singers sing love, musicians play love. But no one can explain love.
During my English class last Friday, Ms. Wilson introduced to us her favorite love poem, and i think this poem just portrays love perfectly:
A Deep-Sworn Vow
By William Butler Yeats
Others because you did not keep
That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine;
Yet always when I look death in the face,
When I clamber to the heights of sleep,
Or when I grow excited with wine,
Suddenly I meet your face.
Yes, love is when you look into someone’s eyes, you see everything you need.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Let’s enjoy love, the most beautiful poem of life.
Innovators often suffer for their ideals.
Not grounded in reality dreamers always dream.
An ideal that can change the world and the faith of its residents.
The age of gasoline will end.
Men such as Musk will lead the way.
Media and politics conspire against him.
A shady review is circulated.
His lighting vehicle, once a savior is now vilified.
The media in this instance is false.
His lighting vehicle is a miracle but personal vendetta got in the way.
Reports laced with malice were found false.
Who is to blame?
The media, politics, or the man.
The blame rests on are culture and the industries that allow it to thrive.
My favorite poet is Mary Oliver. She is the kind of the writer that perfectly combines the words by feelings. Her words can talk.
She picks up a bunch of aromatic flowers and smiles; she steps into the deep mysterious forest and listens; she smells the spiritual magic of nature and gets infatuated. She, Mary Oliver, the daughter of the earth, extracts every piece of the nature to build a poetic world filled with her particular experiences and feelings. Born in a small town with rural environment in Ohio in 1935, Mary Oliver spent her earliest days surrounding farms and fields and the deep woodlands attracted her. That became the moment when she realized the congenial places that lurked within her heart – nature.
A man is disgruntled and angry.
Perhaps he lost his job to hate.
Perhaps not.
His intentions do not matter.
All that matters is the result of his action.
It’s a shame a once public servant.
Now, he harms the people he once swore to protect.
Why?
His actions are the signs of a mad men.
Now he is no longer respected.
He is feared and hated.
Through the mountains he roams.
Trucking along on his quest of evil.
Seizures and searches do nothing.
He is out their, true.
But surely he will be found.
Warriors fight and die for a nation.
Never questioning the validity of their cause.
They act selflessly asking and receiving very little in return.
They die in the deserts, thousands of miles away from their homes.
Enduring unimaginable physical and mental wounds.
Limbs missing and soul shattered.
Yet never questioning the validity of their cause.
The nation and its leaders will never understand.
Their pay cut and for what, to balance scales.
No no its politics, the goal is to simply appear to solve problems.
The soldiers are cut, their sacrifices are diminished.
All they have given to a nation is forgotten.
It emerged only once
When he warmly beams
It flashed only once
When she euphonically sings
Time
ceases
Time
flies
Time
freezes
You breezily flipped my fragile heart once
And you always will
I believe
In that moment
Called
once
I ran
For you,
For once.
I stared at you into your deep blue eyes
My Mr. moon who will you smile at, tonight
I remembered you have been mine once
Which made me smirk like a blest bride
But after the eclipse last night
You became the Mr. moon of another sky
I am coward of darkness now
After my heart shattered without your light
I know there are thousand stars like me out there
But you are the only sparkle in my sight
I have always wanted to live near the glass.
Open and cold
Pure and nice.
Crystalline structures formed feet above the surface.
The glass is the only thing that serves a purpose.
Frozen water, a protector from the sub zero abyss.
The sun sets and rises and reflects of the face, until the heat comes then it’s a race.
A race against time
To finish through the line.
What is electricity?
Does it give humans solace in the middle of the night?
Does it allow for the advancement of mankind?
Does it allow lost things to be found?
Does it illuminate homes?
Does it illuminate streets?
Does it illuminate towns?
Cities?
Countries?
Earth?
It does none of these things.
The only things it does is provide hope to a failing team.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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