Penned Hopes

I.
The sky offers nothing and yet gives all the love a mother could.
Or all the hate, or all the pain, or all the fear.
But mostly it gives love, day by precious day.
I look up and embrace the silence with arms outstretched.
I think I can hear you telling me something,
that details are obstructions
when we grow blind to the greater light
hiding from us in the shadows.

II.
There is a difference in what comes out of your mouth and what goes in it.
Likewise, there should be some diversity between what goes into your soul and what comes out.
Wisdom and knowledge are not one and the same.
They can make one; yet they are never quite the same.

III.
I take the bristling of my pores as they cry against the heat of the autumn sun,
like how leaves must weep at all the love the rays give, how they can only take so much
before they start to hurt, and die.

IV.
What would I “trill” for democracy?
Honestly…how great, exactly, is this democracy?
Is she the perfect girlfriend?
Never going to leave us in the dust,
never going to die and leave us to fend for ourselves,
right, right, right, right, right?