Let's Be Real

To me, you are not the flame of cocaine to breathe in,
You are not the heroine needle beneath my skin,
No, you are not a drug for a temporal high.
To me you're beauty, breath, radiance and life.

Some will try to score you to ignore their self destruction
To escape their senses, their reason, to lose all function.
You're not the black market means to fleeting liberty to me
You're graceful compassion, curiosity within the depths to see. 

I don't recognize you as someone's back alley deal
a dirty well kept secret threat they must conceal. 
I see you true baby girl, with open beautiful zeal. 
Capable of love and wholeness if you'd let yourself feel...

... and if you'd will it,  let romance be real. 

S.O.S

 Authors write books like a marooned soul living on parched deserted island. 
They scrawl their words down, stuffing them in bottles to hurdle into the tides of time. 
They wish there was civilization and company to rescue from shallow conversation,
From the scorching heat of the trepid and the vain who fade colors to bleak hues of white. 
Authors write books and cast them out in wonder if the words will ever reach another,
Will they find this lost mind. Will they be rescued themselves. Will the ideology or ruminations, the labor and the aspiration chart a course to truth? 
Authors can see the people speed by on their apathetic jetboats, careening through life surfing on self absorption. 
I'm just an author shipwrecked in my thoughts, daydreaming on cobbled raft of unsaid things.

Maybe Angels

Maybe women are compared to angels because their beauty is a terrifying force of destruction. 
"Don't be afraid" some say and they appear and alter your life. Maybe women are compared to angels sometimes because they speak in obscurity and code as you're trying to understand what is needed of you. 
They're sent to help man, as fallen as he be.
When angels fall, devils rise- with licentiousness and careful lies.  The daughters of men present as light, taking formerly faithful into the night. And what they ask, do we say of men,  broken mirrors failing to reflect the light? What can be said of the fault of men, who do not and will not stand for right.
Fallen angels and broken mirrors, distorted instruments of God.