Poem

The History of Thought

What is the definition of joy?

What is the definition of love?

Concepts that we learn at birth

And our consciences that we obtained from above

cannot be unlearned or ungiven

But we learn words

Simple words, and simple principles, that are somehow assumed understood.

The powers of hell, we assume cannot confuse these concepts, cannot redefine them, like a simple dictionary could.

Science and sicology, mysteries of the world, may be simple, but simple is too plain, too humble.

The logic of God seems progressive, too complicated for the cave men of the past to grasp.

And though it is true that knowledge is built higher after certain generations,

The truth is the simple foundation, or else it would be long dead.

And the foundation is sure, for the foundation is the rock.

How can we know how things were created

Without knowing the history of thought?

Two poems about journals

Poem #1

It is silent as you write.

Your words are truth, they are painted with thoughts, dressed with pride.

Your thoughts eat at the silence, they grow bigger and bigger, 

your grip on the pen becomes tighter and tighter,

the thoughts become louder and louder, until,

It is silent as you read. 

Your words, ripped of all disguise, stripped of all paint, are bold. 

Ridiculous. 

Childish. 

The silence lingers, and is not a kind friend.

Your very real world has been exposed by your journal, to actually be pretend.

Poem #2

Inside the pages of my journal, are stories, opinions and beliefs.

Explained are experiences of anger, days of triumph, and lists of pet peeves.

In the moment of writing them, the words are strong, true, and bold.

But in the silence of reading them, they are poorly told.

My journal is a friend, for it's pages reveal unbiased truth.

My journal is a friend, for within is nothing but ignorant experiences of youth.