Pride

from the same trunk we have branched out
exposing our similarities within the exoskeleton of our bark,
sprouting families of the same DNA.
labeled differently for ease of dissemination when the seasons change,
dropping wisdom back into the soil, allowing the Faith of our past
to be recirculated into the roots of a new generation.
each leaf proudly boasting its own color,
genetically identical, yet each hue denotes nothing special…
just to the eye.
becoming lustful of the flesh that boasts a different shade,
each branch becomes in competition with itself
masked by the foolish idea it is more evolved than its counterpart..
revolution has begun on the surface and it causes limbs to twist –
branches to die, reaching across to impose – to dominate;
the outward battle rages a fire that burns and scars within
slowly covering the past, and fooling tomorrows sprouts that this is the first
war of its kind.
and in the daylight, each tree dies blindly,
not realizing that its plight has become a reflection of the same genocide
happening around it.
clouds pour down rain of hope
begging with thunder to evoke a change of heart
if only, the leaves would look up once again.
©jdj

please if you have critiques about my writing styles or thoughts, share. I am looking for feedback.

God Bless

False Prophets

In a world divided by paper, how can we sit complacent and demand  revival.  

When beautiful trees find themselves buried underneath concrete words of hate, how do we figure tomorrow we will have hope to breath in.

 The soil has been stained with blood, harvested with the sins of false faith. 

Following the shine of fallen stars only leads us deeper into the same black hole.

 So many are willing to sacrifice Mana for fast food, allowing our souls to die. 

Knowing all too well, they offer drinks from an ocean that leaves a seemingly unquenchable thirst. ©jdj 2017

The Eye of the Storm

Swirling desperation and hope within uncontrolled confined spaces that
bring grey to life.
Taking silence, and maddening its deafening scream –
pounding the colors out of now muted coronas.
leaving broken branches blindly beating against each other in hopes
of finding solace, in the cushion of tattered leaves.

Subsiding winds seem to lure out a false confidence between the falling raindrops,
wanting a departure from the violent thunder that berated tired fields into submission.

Buildings lie to rest and dust settles in a restless slumber –
fearing that terror creeps back between distant sighs
in the eye of the storm.
©jdj 2017