The following poem may seem like a stretch, but in fact it is a window, an extension of the human condition, as we deal with what appears to be our

I have been living in America for many years. Real and I write the most beautiful works possible Because that’s what makes me happy if we’re always happy. And the

I overheard a conversation today, it began cordial enough with mostly agreements, until one speaker replied, “life was better back then.”   I looked at her and thought, for who?

My eyes see degradation of human life and disregard for human death   My brain fights while it simultaneously aspires for peace   My stomach digests the vitriol and the