The Power of Greed
I wonder how people, though foolish or wise,
Can easily succumb to evil and vice
Cherished, praised and admired, they may be,
But greed has surpassed every man, you see.
A sleepless malice sweeps through their minds,
Dreams of avarice in their forehead lines
Money, power, pleasure and lechery
What more can a mind think, that is full of treachery?
But someday they will be trapped in the web of deceit,
When their wealth won’t help to pay a forfeit
But still they’ll stand, looking back at the door,
Always, always, wanting more
Such is the power, the power of greed,
No matter what you say, they will never give heed
It has killed not dozens, but a billion lives,
Of course, you can try, but it always thrives.
So listen, my kin, come what may,
To the evil eye of greed, don’t you fall prey!
For greed is nothing, but a dismal den,
Once got in, you’ll never find you back again.
Samiya! Samiya! Where are you?!
The young woman shot up in her bed, sweat acting as the glue for her hair to stick to her forehead. Her affrighted big, brown eyes flitted from one side to the other of the small studio apartment.
Shadows played in the space, enjoying their freedom to frolic before the sun shone through in all its strength.
She inched backwards, pressing her back against the bed's cold, hard headboard. The covers and blankets were pulled backwards with her, her hands scrunching up the material as she tried to garner some comfort from the ghostly sheets.
She stared in front of her, not noticing her living space anymore; her eyes were replaying those oh-so-familiar scenes which she couldn't place into her past. She didn't know where she saw all the death and destruction. Or...
She shuddered, tears streaking across her cheeks, but no sniffs or sobs heard. She would rather know that she dreamt of what happened instead of what might happen.
Her eyelids shut close, hiding the scared brown pools. Immediately, a face appeared from the black void.
His brown eyes laughed at her, the twinkle unmistakably mischievous.
His mouth was wide and friendly; he was laughing at her. His copper skin glowed in the light of a sunny day, but the heat couldn't scorch away his joy.
She could see only him in the middle of the pitch black background, but she somehow felt the sun falling on her and the breeze blowing past her. It ruffled his black hair; he shoved a hand through the messy strands, and she could suddenly hear herself: "You need to cut it! Hair doesn't get shorter by itself."
"Yes, dear," he mocked with a wink, before laughing and then turning to run. He disappeared into the void, and the sun and breeze left with him.
Her eyes shot open again, and met the same sight as every other morning. A minimalistically-designed studio apartment. She felt caged in, but the sun was only starting to light up the sparse space with golden rays. It was still too early to open her windows and allow in the morning breeze.
She stretched out her legs, grimacing at the stiff muscles. Pulling back her legs to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees. She stared at her toes, allowing her thoughts to run away with her again.
This couldn't be how life was supposed to be...So sheltered and caged in. But, she certainly didn't wish for a life of war and fighting either. She just wished for freedom.
Freedom comes at a price, Samiya. She shook her head, but recognized the words as being uttered by the voice of the stranger from her dreams.
"Who are you?" she whispered, her nose scrunching up as she halted her next flow of tears. "Why do you haunt me?"
A breeze swept over her. Her head shot up, fear clutching her heart in its cold claws. She plunged towards the foot of the bed, tumbling over it to the ground. Pressing her body to the ground, she crawled into the little space she had left for herself, the rest of the space underneath the bed closed up to allow nobody sight of the hiding space.
She shut the small door with her toes, stretching her body to spill into the space to the top of her head. She lay still, her eyes now awake and focused, her ears paying attention to the slightest of sounds. She shivered at the haunting cry of an anguished young man, but she knew that it wasn't really being called from within her apartment.
"Samiya! Samiya! Where are you?!"
death by dandelion
yearning is a body wasting away in satin sheets
bloated with fantasies of skinny dipping in broad daylight
rooftop picnics and poetry when the moon is full;
soft kisses when she’s empty, emotions to match
they’re all but stenciled dreams, off-brand memories
a stranger’s home video tapes on the ceiling
worshiped through chlorine eyes
yearning is forgetting this life
for one that never was and never will be
trying on shoes that no one can walk in
but wearing them anyway
that’s why all the pretty girls have feet that ache and bleed
and pretty boys in their bedrooms
yearning is a soul decomposing
a grave for the stems of dandelions plucked from the earth
while their cotton fae now cling to the dreamcatchers
swaying vacant in the kitchen window
it is wanting and wanting and
weeping over what cannot be
However I look at it, or, however the timing, or, however, it's like what other ever, it doesn't matter. It's all the same, it's all the fucking same.
It's all the same to me. It finishes with death, and, or disappointment of some kind; even after successes, triumphs, and whatever accomplishments - there's always a dip, a drop . . . a letdown.
However, it may be, I always have to get myself off my fucking ass for the umpteen time.
I have to convince myself to get out of bed and do what I've been doing for a million years already . . . However, it may be.
Pen to the Paper 11
"Hey, are you still mad?"
"No, I'm fine," Maya said, leaving the office. Closing the door, she added, "Past is in the past."
After sitting in silence for a couple seconds, Nick said, "She's still mad."
"Yep. It's been more than a month, I have apologized ten times a day, and she still hasn't forgiven me for the U_R_Lame joke. Y’know, she stood me up the next day. I spent all day cooking some b-e-a-utiful steaks for dinner and she just didn't show up. Heck, I even bought a nice white table cloth and some candles, put some roses in some mismatched vases… most romantic thing I've ever done!"
"It was a pretty stupid--and immature, may I add--joke. I'd be mad too."
"But for a month, Nick?"
"Nah. You and I are the same: I'd only be mad for five minutes."
"I wouldn't be mad though," I replied.
"You wrote the joke."
Nick looked at my notes. "Do me a favor."
"Cut that joke about women from your act."
I took the note card from his hands and read the joke. "Cripes. I wrote that?"
"Yeah. Kind of something you would do without thinking because of your current Maya-issue. Joke about an issue you're having because you can't seem to figure out how to fix it."
I looked Nick in the eyes and said, "Man, I'm trying to prepare for a comedic act. Quit getting all serious on me."
"Aaaaand you're back."
"How much time do I have before I go on stage?"
"Dang it! I'm worse than Ma!" I said, dashing onto stage.
"Calebs, am I right?" Pete said to himself.
"Hello ladies and gents," I said behind the curtain into the microphone. "Guess who's late? Me. By a week. Oops! Guess time just slipped away from me," I said, stumbling onto stage and "accidentally" dropping a prop pocket watch.
The crowd was silent. "Man, I thought that was funny. Showed Maya and she told me… MAYA!"
A few seconds later, Maya stepped onto a stage. "What's up, doc?"
"Did you lie to me about my joke?"
"Yeah. You can call us even now. That was the worst joke I've read in a long time."
I sighed and walked to the front of the stage. Sitting on the edge of it and looking out at the crowd, I said with a sigh, "Well, sorry about that disappointing introduction. First, I'm a week late, then that joke… Anyways, Pen to the Paper is back!"
All my life I wanted love to take over my whole soul.
I love the feeling I would get when that certain someone was around.
I would feel gitty and silly and anticipated the chance to hold them.
Knowing that I am not the person to even tell them how I felt. Yes, Chicken was my middle name and I wore that suit well. I hated rejection. I knew I was a good girl for someone's daughter. I knew I would treasure her heart like a diamond. I knew I could be faithful to her because she was all I wanted. And I knew I would be there and protect her with all I had in me. But through her eyes, I was no one.
So do I put my best clothes on to get her attention? Or do I just act silly when I was around her so that she would notice? Or do I put on my big girl drawers and grow some balls and step up to the plate and say "I want you". Nope, I'm not
that bold. So dreaming will just have to do. At least in my dreams, I navigate the whole thing. You see it's called daydreaming for a reason. All-day I could close my eyes and spend as much time with her as I want. But I have to say what controls my cheerios in my stomach is her voice. When I hear it but don't see her, I melt. It feels like a million little bursts of sunshine flying around in my soul. If she and I had a conversation on the phone, she would never see the grinning that comes out with every word. A simple victory dance in my belly in her honor.
She makes me feel like a 75-degree day with 20 mph winds with a baked chocolate chip smell in the air.
And then I open my eyes and I am back to where I was, wishing she loved me.
re: emotional day
“Listen. I know we haven’t been standing up for each other.
There’s always a time to start.
But will we ever pull together?
Never know until we let go of the old. I know he’s too afraid to try... but now he’s so old, his only real fear is when he’ll die... and if he’ll have to live through watching someone he loves, die.
Well. I recognize your behavior. I’m just doing what i would’ve wanted: reminders of the little ways i am kind and good.