this is our soapbox: a series of 1’s and 0’s

translated and displayed on every screen.

disconnected from our causes,

we want to end hate without ourselves loving the unloved,

end hunger without feeding the hungry,

find truth without weighing our thoughts.

our passions are dissolved

into the singular click of a plastic cursor: like.

we shout, yes, on and on,

joining in the chorus of human hearts provoked to action,

hearts longing for anything else to change,

but for themselves, unwilling.

while we scream at the broken pieces of our society to fix themselves,

we allow ourselves to forgot the use of our own two hands.

love, it’s far better to appear passionate,

than risk the dangers associated with true compassion, action.

we continue to shout, for shouting is all

we have ever known for our entire lives.

every day, we are faced

with thousands of screaming ideas and people.

we are told to have an opinion, that we must know everything.

so we broadcast our knowledge without ceasing.

what is knowledge without tangible reality?

what is passion without action?

so, here’s to our stupidity and the idea that we know anything

and here’s to sincerity and the ideals of a bygone age.

while we long to end hurt and poverty,

to mend what is broken

replace what is lost,

without action, we will only end ourselves.

here’s to our soapbox, for that it will remain.

patience, these things take time.

god, i've been here for eight weeks already. it seems so short. i've learned so much. i know more than i ever thought i would about the culture i live in. i see so much hurt and pain. emptiness fills every glass. what is life that they should escape? why are we here? do they ever ask these questions?

on every night stand, sits a glass filled with emptiness. in so many thirsty forms, does emptiness come. each glass is like salt water; it only serves to increase thirst. first saturday, then friday, now thursday the week is slowly turned over to the glass. every night it meets their lips and kisses them goodnight. oh, how sweet does it taste to be free; to forget all that has past and all that will come; to fill your mind with emptiness and cover your thoughts with fog. empty. it is hard to endure this. why must they be fools? is life so bad that they must forget? three days a week they cheat reality. infidelity, they cheat on the life they have. why? can you tell me?

you know how to love. how did you love those who weren't willing to accept even a kind word from your lips? how did you patiently endure every second and not strike back? love i must, but how? am i fully awake or have i my own glass of emptiness? have i planted my own vineyard and pressed the grapes to fill bottles with my own complacency? awaken me from this stupor! oh, god, take away the blinds. change my heart. break my heart! i need to see what is real and understand the meaning behind every fools escape and attempt to cheat reality. break my heart.

the ebony sky is torn by fingers

reaching out from hands of crystal;

ice, frozen in space, suspended above

its heart of frigid waves.

they have stolen her soul away

and plucked her every diamond.

she has been robbed of her garlands

and clothed in mysterious darkness.

but that's ok.

beneath the surface, night is ever.

tonight, above ground is as beneath.

many souls on board; lives at life.

my heart broadcasts in silence.

mile after mile is devoured, rails go.

the target races to meet the arrow,

the ground rises to catch each step.

time shrinks beneath the weight of joy.

change me.

stare, let your eyes take in this scene

as an ocean of night drains through the gap.

the longer you look, the more desolate your perception.

stare on, but your eyes will not repair the broken window.

three weeks undone, crumbled, wasted, to be forgotten.

how long the stone remained on your nightstand,

while you peered through the panes, at the world outside.

three weeks passed. the stone flew; the glass fell.

fool, what a failure to fall to the same trick.

you must repay your debt and replace the broken panes.

but you cannot, you are scum thrown to the street.

foolish one, you are worthless and hopeless. despair.

no! i will not remain a prisoner to my failures.

what use is it to dwell in a house i despise?

if i leave the house the memories will fade.

forget it! my debt has been paid and i will move on.

i looked upon the autumn sky,

whose tears were perched,

upon pillar trees and ocean's breath.

they were stranded for you and i.

should we become united,

will the tears run for joy,

to enlighten our swollen eyes,

and brazen our fading smiles?

should we become tragedy,

will the tears fall in agony

to trace our weeping faces,

and burn our words to ashes?

i remember when life was bliss,
open arms were all we knew,
and honest words all we heard,
because we lived in ignorance.

when awakened by the birds' symphony,
our eyes opened to dancing sunlight,
and every night we'd rest our heads
upon the certainty of the coming dawn.

but our day came; the sun ceased to rise.
our world changed; and we forgot the past.

a cloud shrouded your eyes and
lies were etched onto your heart.
you feared truth, and all of it's secrets;
with deceit you held your own.

when they hated and reviled you,
i bore you like a scar that did not heal.
their words of spite, brittle as ice,
cut to my soul, instead of yours.

i looked into your eyes.
i questioned your heart.

"who are you?" i asked of them.

"who i have always been," they said,
"but you have loved me all along."

if eyes could be opened
and hearts be broken
mine should be first,
because my love was blind:

i let you go.

between the folds of paper,

i leave love's tenderest kiss.

from the heart to the mind

the verse of thoughts flow.

veins do not course with blood,

but with breathing, living ink.

they bleed themselves empty

to fill pages with our dreams.

must i depend on such simple wisps of night?

upon wings of fragile ink, trust my dreams to fly?

these swirls of pure, black ink

intertwine with my affections.

the portrait they have painted,

i hold ever more dearly.

but, i will not speak of this.

rather, i bury it with the pen.

would i, to any ear, share this beautiful truth?

upon a breath of wind, risk my greatest wealth?

like a rose before it's bloom,

who would pluck it from it's stem?

i cannot take the life i seek to win.

i must release it from my thoughts,

where the sun will never shine.

i will not hinder escape with words.

would i hold captive, the one i truly love?

upon such a faint path be a guide by night?

no, i will wash these dreams away

with the tides of my remorse.

beneath a rain of crimson tears,

i purge this page of it soul.

in time, it will be revived,

if my love holds dear and true.

between the folds of paper,

i've left love's tenderest kiss.

i think as if i am watched.

in my mind, everyone is conniving,

just waiting for me to fall.

they laugh at me when i fail

they hate me more with each success.

they are like vultures waiting to feast,

like hunters waiting for their prey.

open, eyes! I want to see!

silence, mind! I want to beleive!

there is more to them than i can paint.

i am not a balancing man on a wire,

the lime light is not on me at all times.

i am just like them and they are like me;

no better, no worse, desperatly in need of grace.