We can’t see wind but its felt
We can’t see feelings but they pierce our bodies daily
We can’t see love yet we still feel the strength of its power.

Betrayal, has devastated your heart,
blocking love’s magic, before it could start.
And depression's quagmire, entraps your soul,
as disparaging lies, exact their toll.Chameleon clouds change, to match your mood,
releasing teardrops, emotions have brewed.
And your heart breaks, from the weight of the pain,
as monsters hide, in the thoughts of the sane. A fickle sun, no longer shares its light,
sulking within shadows, gathered by night.
And feigning feelings, you struggle to cope,
for counterfeit smiles, leave no room for hope.The specter of fear, that penetrates dreams,
fuels frightening bouts, of silent screams.And exiting the tunnel, there’s no light,for the future’s foggy, obscured by fright.The promise of tomorrow, made to youth,was written on yesterday’s fragile truth.For happiness, is a word without weight, it's simply a moment, devoid of hate.

We have to survive for one time in a life 
Although, how much difficulty there is?
Which lessons give them ideal sense?
What lessons make them feel humanity?
Killings and damaging are the supremacy
Every greedy of power and wealth thinks 
They know better themselves even pretend
As nothing known about the awful results.These weeping, these crying and low faces
I seem, they are coming in my dream to bite
I can’t sleep because of seeing rolling images
In front of my eyes I feel then I weep and cry.My pain and agony do not touch anybody
More than me thousand times sufferers have
I only could say this is not good to drink blood
But who understand in this world of Autocrats!

Sad for waiting long without success attained,'Cool and gentle wins without struggle' thought I,Pains and heartbreaks glue to my body firmly,Suffering kicks off.Skills progress with passion which brings exceeding
joy and pleasure;deeply I`ve learned this knowledge.Poetry helps me  gain  to  myself an angel, Greater is passion.

Stop the bombs,
They're killing our future
It’s hard to remain calm,
Forests are gone from fiery napalm.
Where are the natives gonna live?
Something’s got to give.

Stop the bombs,
Radiation lingering around.
Must again purify humanity’s crown.
Stop the bombs
To save the homeless man 
Reading the twenty-third psalm  

One Mushroom Cloud, war could be global.
Nature decayed and fallen out like Chernobyl.
The flash in the distance
Could be His second coming
Or nukes of resistance.
And yet the dove flies overhead

Perhaps its song can hush the war drum.
Dove flying overhead
Maybe it’ll give peace to some.
Dove flying above,
Bombs blasting below.
But let love’s organ blow.

Stop the bombs,
So salvation can abound,
Prayers for mercy sound,
Stop the bombs,
Children are crying on battleground.
May they see a world of peace,
Instead of an earth deceased.
May doves in cages be released.

You can still do it so long as you
Have breath in your body.
Don't stop until your dreams
become a reality.
Keep fighting until
the final bell rings
Over the speakers and
throughout the arenas.

You said I fell 
too hard too fast
My heart not healed 
from my wounded past. The angry words. The cruel remarks
another rejection
Alone in the dark. Tired of hurting
tired of pain I never want 
to feel again. Can't stop crying
Tears fall like rain. All of my efforts
Always in vain. Will it ever end?
My empty life? Within my heart
A twisted knife. My tears won't stop
My Heart Won't mend. Always
broken. Always the end. I'll say goodbye I'll walk away Can't take this heartache For one more day. I'll hear your voice I'll see your face
And fade into darkness away from this place. I'll be forgotten 
I won't be missed gone from this world I no longer exist

 ~ Pati Elzey ~

Behaviour begets the way we are
Naughty nuptials enhance life's joys
Bringing major manifestation to ones soul
To live life with love and devotion
Endearing oneself only to enjoyment
Forgetting false thoughts of immorality
Living life as a lover, friend,
Behaving, badly not worthy of a thought
Living, life well has its memorable memories 

Your head over my shoulder;
And my mind was blown yonder.
Sensation struck me like thunder,
Lost I was in your world of wooing wonder. Even though I might have played a pretender,to this influence of your eloquence so tender,
Heaven knows  your head over my shoulder. Eases  my stress, my mess and my going asunder.

I thought I was a poet who had a pen of gold
With clear access to writing that was mature and bold.
I thought I could go roaming beside the foaming sea
And watch the seagulls gliding to give a show for free.

Old ideas, more like character defects--
no way to pay bills or get paychecks.
Mind-aching explosion,
put up the road blocks,
ticking like a time bomb or a grandfather clock.
Time's up, make a decision,
something you can live with--
space just to breathe and enough room to pivot.
Exquisite provisions--
invaded by religion.
Predicaments that can change one's whole way of livin'.
Conditions, 
they can make you
or absolutely break you.
Be wise with the lifestyle and morals that you take to.
Make haste not to
delay the truth inside the prelude
and maybe one day you
will finally have a breakthrough.

Sometimes we sit alone,
quiet, trying to figure
out who carried a piece
of us with them, as we try
to put ourselves together again...

There, resting in stoic frame, it
reflected its sheen surface; glowing 
like a stilled black water river—The stage
mocking banks at high tide.

Ebony rowed keloids rose in-between
marshmallow like parallels—Aping
a skewed checkerboard smile
frozen in time: a 9 to 13 tuned ratio.

Marooned in this tuned ratio,
all held rhythmic visions 
that veiled eyes could not see;
all held tuned sounds 
that clogged ears could not hear.

88 heartbeats per time—Waiting.
There in stilled silence, lived an eternity
of unity—abiding  in melodic bliss:  a quiet
concerto of beauty—awaiting its released. 

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
 Jacob Reinhardt

Fall weather’s best, within to get rest,
 Visit Oktoberfest, a very trying test,
Disturbing my rest, being no more a guest,
 Pokka dancing storm, advances age alarm,
Finished with that, just play with cat,
 Until he spits, then I’ll quit,
Then I’ll get!.. a chair…
 and  just sit!

 john freeman