Scribblings

26

I am 26 years old
with earth stained hands
and tree scratched arms.
A face hidden by hair
some curly, some straight
others ranging in color
from pitch black to snow white.
Most days I try to smile
and laugh once or twice
Because as my skin grows older
I want it to tell the story
of a man who laughed and smiled
while passing his days in glory.


Lives in Bulk

Giant, silent, and foreign
their cold wind swept decks
hold steel boxes
full of stolen lives.
Sons and daughters
mothers and fathers,
manufacturing synthetic lives
for peoples across the ocean
who believe not the makers,
but the sellers pathetic lies.