A Hierarchy of Angels

Forgive me if I fail to see

The flattery in your Joie de vivre

Correct me if I’m insincere

In disregarding the context of your cheer

What’s left tomorrow is often the rejected

Frames of today

Distinguish yourself through honor

Open your heart to verite and

All the lies will fade away

Forgery of purpose is impossible

If dedication is one’s only vice

Destitution of promise is but

A reflection of internal strife

To calm such seas in tumult

Simply intuit the breath, exhaling

All denials and debilitating thrush

And such is the way

And such is the path

     To delve fully in such direction

     Is to submit to potent tracts

In truth there is forgiveness

In strength one finds the gravity of love

     In harmony there lives a peaceful serenade

     Serenity one could almost touch

As one walks the valleys of the parent

All allegories are revealed

When one accepts all that is as what is served

There will be a hierarchy of angels revealed

Saline

Salty kisses down the cheek

In times of joy,

And when we’re weak

Or have answers that we seek,

Tears shed when we’re high

Tears shed when we’re low

Even for unknown reasons

Some tears shed,

Planned or

Withheld

For some it’s a give

For other’s a take

Tears of joy

And of sorrow

Each a journey that we take,

Tender recollections of yesterday

And all the moments yet to play

Some tears stay and some tears leave,

Some are meant for others and freely flow,

Some tears we can’t let go

Each an outlet of its own

A Mothers' Tear

Inhale.  Orange zest and lemon curls, bouquets sculpt with wild flowers

Geometric ruffling in decorative lace

Devoured by the flavor amidst scripted parsimony,

That leave some so uninspired, yet

As a child I would attend the gala every year,

Chicken cordon bleu, cheese pouring out

Into puddles, infringing upon the green beans,

Baskets filled with fresh baked bread,

A quick slice, to which butter promptly melts

A taste that lemon splashed sparkling water quickly washed away,

Occasionally I’d take notice to the names of guests as they would appear,

On laminated paper, as if anyone could forget who each other were,

I’d Exhale, a simple sigh, as my mother took my tiny hand,

Guiding me away from the feasts and fancy, across the gymnasium floor to our once a year enchanted place, an area more open and clear, where only the two of us would dance and stare,

Still lacquered shiny from the game the night before,

I’d forget about the mud and dirt as that song would play it’s lonesome melody,

And her lips would curl towards the ceiling high, and I’d always wonder why she’d tear

Upon seeing the splendor within my eyes,

But tomorrow the town shall renew once more,

Weekly trips to the fruit stands, riding a bicycle my dad used to own,

Seeing children from the neighborhood, scattered across the grassy groves

Immersed in every type of play imagined, an idea lost with age,

And now, with a moistening of the face, I knew what my mothers’ tears had to say