Loser

Racing through the forest of my mind,
An unescapable doom I find
Whose dark depths intrigue
The bearer of all woe.

It starts with the past . . .
Something of a mis-made cast
Whose purpose distorts the future
With imperfections and flaws.

Yet present finds the day,
Whose worldly problems often pay
For the anxiety and pressure
Of an inevitable failure.

Future then comes last,
Often leaving me aghast,
For if the past and present shape the future,
There will mature a loser.

Dietic Doom

Diets, Diets, Diets.

Racing through the country like a tsunami hitting the sand.

However, perhaps there really is a flood-

A flooding of morals and rationale from one,

Replaced with the sins of fads and “fashion.”

Diets, Diets, Diets.

Caused by a false portrayal of health

For beauty is the glow of happiness,

Not the depression of bone-lust.

Diets, Diets, Diets.

Will carbs “kill you”

Or will society’s glorified message?

Will your hourglass stay pristine?

Or will it burst like the glass that contains what is within,

The sand pouring out of every crack and crevice?

Yet, this is avoidable.

A pear, an apple, and a flank shape are fine.

If body shape defines value,

Society is doomed.

A Heart of Daisies

O Poor Ophelia,

Thy heart is but a range of daisies,

While thy mind is all aloe.

Thy grief hath changed thou,

A sinner in the eyes of He,

But thy inners ring gentle

So holy shall thou be,

An image of reverence

That I revere readily.

So long as weeds don’t transform pedals,

Holy shall thou be.

Daydreamer

The silky skin;
The flawless grin;
Melting away hours of memory.
Whether it be by the nose
Or the tips of the toes,
That man is surely an idol.
From the tan tint
To the eyes' glint,
Divinity seems true.
Yet if reflection finds truth,
The sanctity is a visage of youth.