The Prickly Plant

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On a hilltop the prickly plant sits lying in dirt

The humans that pass by question its worth.

It starts as a budding spore with no spikes.

Humans that touch it have no reason to take flight .

The years go on, its brethren die.

The prickly plant still survives.

By this time it has matured.

Any creature that touches it must endure.

The pain wrought by its vicious spike.

Every human that touches it now takes flight.

However even this prickly plant still has friends.

After all, its location as an insects home is in high demand.

The spiders crawl inside the prickly plants center.

The spiders permanent home it has just entered.

The prickly plant keeps humans away.

It also makes the spiders day.

A collection of Haikus

Thoughts lie on smooth stones
Water rushing across them
They erode in time

The head of a pin
covered in dark graphite
a mouse’s pencil

a light far away
slightly to far to reach
a path of lost dreams

Missing Piece

Ever feel like you’ve lost something that you simply can’t ever replace or recover?

Not something really, someone. Losing someone that close that knew so much and wanted a better human being instead of a monster.

One who rather be feared and respected than loved. What kind of animal is this? This maniac never evolved fully. A heart and soul were left undeveloped from the vessel that wreaks havoc on all those who care. Pushing away, more interested in achieving his desired power than achieving relationships with those that wanted to be there.

Denial was never the answer for him. Hiding in the shadows, he tried to hide himself from everyone because he couldn’t stand causing the hurt anymore. The pain he forced upon himself and the world around him was unorthodox. Everything and everyone that he thought he loved was all a lie. He wasn’t capable of love or allowing people to love him. He wanted to learn, but didn’t know how. His power was declining.

Is there more than just raw power? Is there emotion in this cold life he lives? Is there any way to achieve happiness?

What an outrageous concept. He so greatly craves love. But he can’t feel it. He had it.

But she was always his missing piece. She never saw what he did. She was incredible to him and he loved her. But when the missing piece fell to the floor, she dragged his heart with her, never allowing love again.

As much as he wants to hate her, he can’t. He still loves his missing piece.

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The shapes of words


Lets start with a letter.

A letter would be the theoretical point of the word world

points can be arranged in many ways, as can letters.

letters form words as points connect to form lines.

Lines are manipulated to become shapes and curves.

Words are manipulated to become sentences.

Lots of sentences create paragraphs, essays, books, and meaning bursts from the pages.

Lines form into shapes and shading, they form the paintings and images.

meaning is formed from the seemingly insignificant parts of our universe.

Able

Knife in the back

Can’t breath.

Fall to my knees crying out

Can’t move.

Cold,

Lifeless,

Motionless.

Motionless, like the sea on a calm day

or the calm before a storm.

Something is coming, but not even I knows when.

Only when the stars align will time begin to move.

The knife will be removed,

and I will be able to breath,

I will be able to move,

I will be able.

Quanza in Africa

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Dashing through the plains

With a zebra on my back.

Over the dirt I go

Its Quanza in Africa.

Humanitarian aid

Making spirits right.

What fun it is to hunt and ride

On my barefoot feet tonight.

O hunting bells, hunting bells

Hunting all the way.

What fun it is to hunt and ride

On my barefoot feet tonight.

Moments

The moments that stay with us are often peculiar

They are difficult to explain

It may be the first time we talk to a friend

Or the last

As I have grown older memories have grown fuzzier

while others keep their clarity

What decides the memory hierarchy?

Are these the moments that define us?

When we are at our greatest

or worst.

We struggle to find meaning in the moments we remember

And even if we find what we are looking for, why ruin the simplicity of the memory.

Zipped Up

Trapped.

Caged like an animal.

Can’t speak out for fear of punishment.

Must speak out for fear of death.

How do you live when you can do nothing?

Either way you are unhappy.

Words stuck behind the glass

Like finger paintings on a frosted window.

Flipped and confusing on the other side,

But leaves a mark in the morning light.