Future Of the Country

                                           Tears in the eyes,
                                            Fear on the face,
                                     I often see children working,
                                    Roads being there workplace.

                                        Unwillingly doing work,
                                      By the fear of being scolded
                                     Or beaten by their employers 
                                   I see children working for bread.

                      
                                         Messy hair, torn clothes,
                                       Children walking bare feet
                                         And working really hard
                                  Not caring about the rain or heat.

                                     Children doing all sorts of jobs
                                       Including selling and begging.
                                         I have also seen children
                                       Cleaning cars for an earning.

                                             I feel sorry for them.
                                             I feel it is very unfair,
                                     That people make children work
                                     When they should take their care.

                                             Children are delicate,
                                           We must care for them.
                                         For every child in the world
                                            Is as precious as a gem.

                                     At least thinking about the country,
                                            We must stop child labor.
                                     We must stop burdening the children
                                         As they are the country's future.

Goliath Who?

Flying high in the middle of a low season, but ain't no low low enough to keep the looming lion below the medium of mediocre, migrating toward that golden tower of redemption. Grandstanding amongst men of matter who have truly never ever mattered, is a vision of victory that plays over and over in a head already full of dreamy scenes. I am Spartacus, and every other medal of honor gladiator fighting rat faced weasels in the shady arena of cutthroat where the Heartless bleed dry and the soulless perish, lost, aimlessly roaming with no life, like horror flick zombies. I am a dagger with concrete courage and my sword shall swing swiftly, cutting off the heads of coonish thieves who steal from the mouths that feed them. It's a war against betrayal and deception. 

 Load the catapult of payback with raging fire and deep desire to win, then aim for that historical place high up in the top ranks of human hierarchy and just let go. Child of a drop out, but I myself refuse to be left out. Cross reference the lessons of life learned against the lessons of life taught to find a place in that center circle of earned success. And I shall always teach myself whenever the substitutes with no class, impersonating teachers, fear 
 the student and whose lesson plan is only to hold them back.

Mission is to fly space high, even when the plan made has been meant to keep things grounded. Father of fearless emotions, but the inner junior still feels around fragile and timid sometimes, too afraid of becoming a senior who still not knoweths how to feel like a grown up. I don't wanna grow up, but I can't always be a Toy's R Us Kid, so I'll hold my nose and eat my wisdom even when the taste of it is hard to swallow, like NyQuil. Every breath spent is a brawling bout with life. And at the moment I am at a crossroad fighting for "Right." Across a stained oak conference table, dividing good verses evil, before me sits a three headed serpent with plastic fangs, but there's no poison in its bite, it's just a poison of life. So with fate tightly clutched in the palms of my fist I will reach across the fort of pressed wood and with my talented hands snap its fake light. Chin up, hand on my hip and foot on its back, gold colored doves will sound the horns, cuing the applause and I shall then humbly rejoice in the sweet victory of its slaying.  

Miss Count Dracula: "That's Not Lipstick On Her Fangs"

....Well puncture him with your fangs then, because for once he would like to feel the thrill of what She feels when She sucks the Love out of one's life, pumping thru his veins, so that he too could be just as cold as Her. He lust to be the bad guy. Maybe then in the end, he wouldn't always have to end up as Her victim.

"She....Or not?"

She trust me, She trust me not? She respects me, She respects me not? She's loyal, She's loyal not? She'll fight for us, She'll fight for us not? She likes the man that I am, She likes the man that I am not? She supports dream, She supports dream not? She sees the future, She sees the future not? She has patience for growth, She has patience for growth not? She will Love to Love, She will Love to Love...not?

"Where You'll Be..."

There is no crystal ball to look in and see where you'll one day be. You can have all the plans and ideas you like, but life is about moments and how you live in the moment when the moment is placed upon you. How stable you are will determine how stable you'll be.

She's Not A Riddle, But Is Her Love?

Upon Her emotions is where he wants to sit, resting heavy, like bullion bricks on paper fences. Blessed with a knack for attracting a bunch of Hungry Jacks because of how fluffy Her cakes are stacked, he reacts and attacks the opposite of Mack's. Always pressed with being his own kind of chef, uniquely weird, but with an old fashioned, compassionate taste for the sweeter things in life, and judging by Her flavor he knows that there's more to Her dish than just being hot. She has a Heart as big as that London clock and it chimes Love loud when Her little hand strikes twelve with his big hand. Rotating an earth size of feelings, strummed between their strings sing a pretty tune, like a ballerina music box. A sweet harmony that's candy to his ears, tasty, so he keeps craving for more. There's something in the cards so he wants to play the hand. Wedding band, boyfriend or bestfriend? Or could all three be in the plans?   
     Questions and answers are soulmates, so together he hopes they guide him the right way.