1.
Let me spit in your face for lacking conscience and grace,
Says the holy yet furious pen.
2.
You weave words for big shots for they throw butter and breads.
Like men in black coat you fight, eager to prove yourself right.
Let me spit for you fight.
3.
Let me spit, for your pendulous moves: Left and Right.
As you write for the Right, As you write for the Left, As you write for both.
Yet unaware who is right.
Let me spit for you write.
4.

I will be with you
My friend
Every single day
Supporting you daily
That is not a lie
We are both good friends
And we have
The same believes
I can't hardly believe that
Also we treat each other with respect
We never once mistreat each other
Because that would be the wrong thing to do
And we don't deserve that
We need to work on our friendship
Because I want it to last a long time
We would be lost in the world
If we didn't had each other

Before me stands a demon.
I try to calm myself down,
and live inside a lion’s shell —
like a child behind a ring of fire,
hoping no beast dares to cross.

They say I'm fragile and pure.
Maybe that’s why I can’t tell
when a tender look
is meant for a child —
or prey for the hunter’s spell.

Even when the pack is near,
I feel left behind in the wild.
Most of all, now that I’ve grown —
I fear I’ve met
pedophilia face to face.

(Once published on All Poetry)

Somewhere in time
I need to make more friends
Because I only have few friends
And the friends I have
Got some respect for me
They respect my race
And my religion
Also, I respect my friends
Race and religion
Somewhere in time
My friends are praying for God
And God answer my friend's
Prayer
Somewhere in time
My friends are praying for the
Countries that are in war
For them to have peace
We don't know when
The war will end overseas
All we know that are children
Dying of mal nutrition
And that is terrible to see

Silver rays refracted,
they bent in benign,
shapes and shards,
bright moon casts
stylish  beauty yet,
never flags each night,
glide to wistful glide,
a blissful eye treat,
stunned yet aroused,
theatrical tapestry,
engulfs midnight
to polychrome swathe,
engaging the wanderer
whilst they emit sighs,
that spread an arch,
heard by phantom,
fellow journey plodder,
crying heart floods,
of elated elixir elf,
metaphor for cheer,  
either day or night,
the astute eye always
discovers eclectic
sound and vista

At dawn we sang on planet Plu
a song the cosmos deemed taboo
as cobalt blue gave way to pink
and a finch-bat blinked a sleepy blink,
suspended in upended slumber.

While vole-grouse rushed in boundless number
to unlit holes in sunlit hills
and all the owl-whippoorwills
broke off their chorus round the planet,
we crooned a tune — and war began. It

floated like a bloated moon
one afternoon, a bronze balloon
that, as we watched it, detonated.

(We should have been annihilated;
instead, their malice made us chortle