He spoke to the congregation, all unknowing of his grave peril and marksman truth.
To be silent was to sleep too soon, to sidestep the heavy tax on death's advancing toll.
Just as the length of the pew hid from view, the lasting tensions, nation's unborn youth.
King's revolutionary stance rekindled everyone's invincible goal.
The drum major stood upon cathedral hill and slowly stirred his fate,
From the marble soapbox he marched, but failed to summon the holy brigade.
On that last Sunday of his life, he chose instead love and peace to venerate,
He urged reply to the world's cry for freedom, above the rhetoric of nonviolent tirades.
In the end, we don't recall his plea to remain awake or guard against, the future deeds of our enemies. We prefer to dwell upon the silent kiss shared among the closest of friends.
Ava lives next to us in an ugly cookie cut.
She has 4 cats, 3 dogs, and 2 horses.
There were also some crabs and rabbits, but they're gone now.
Ava thinks and acts like a little golden hummingbird.
She dances and sings and walks about without shoes.
She is always moving and talking usually about nothing.
She is Kendall's friend. Or so she says.
But Kendall is jealous and ignores Ava when she gets attention.
Ava runs over to our house every night because her family is never around.
We talk to her, as she jumps around the kitchen and plays duck duck goose with the kitchen chairs.
Ava knows all the hype.
She is like the meddling old woman in the movies.
She drops precious pieces of gossip at our feet.
She is our spy.
We don't know her family but we know their secrets.
My mom thinks she is a bean of jumping magic.
A pretty little bubble of sass.
But I know she is my friend. She is 8 years old and understands my family better than me.
She flutters and somersaults and finds replacement families.
My body wishes to live
She peaks and falters
In extreme swing.
Her youth yields
Her vigor and passion.
For what most confuse as love.
But of course, my mind scolds.
Wanton desire - you crazed one!
Straying for your mother, Sin?
Be not a torment,
Lay idle and awaken
Only at convenient times.
Please grow up, and fair my poor soul
Well of all your counterfeit love.
Oh, that you might be thrust
Into the impossible vantages
Which you invite me to entertain.
But it seems you know nothing
So I pray thee to dabble in all the bitter sweetness
Would be fine, that thee
Leave me and all my passions curbed.
Living a life of the moderate,
Be it plain and unimaginative.
Is this the utopia found in dreams?
Yet without your pressing
What would any future hold?
So in this cycle
I believe my body will constantly sit,
Avoidance deemed inane.
Therefore entreat me to
Your lavish appeals
And take no heed
To the collections of
Downfalls you have so generously supplied.
But the few successes you have brought
Has made all my trifles worthwhile.
Here We Lie
Enveloped in an abundance of youthful purity
Though obstacles numerously account
Yet here we lie
In truth, each of us falls short of perfection
Since the future could be rewritten
In one sensual act.
Still here we lie
Can we touch but not tangle?
Or speak but not kiss?
This burning intent is far from controllable.
Yet here we lie
Still as two conservative souls of sweet childhood,
Suddenly do we disembark.