All average, thats not average.

There was a man, an average man. Lived in a home alone. He was a young man, and it was the first time he owned his vary own home, and he was ready to start his own family. A storm then struck. Not an average storm, but a storm of great might. Six in the morning, the sky was black, and branches hit the cobble. The average man, did not have an average yard. It had two trees, two particular trees. They where not average trees, but trees of great height! The white lightning strikes, and the ground cracks with force! The non-average roots woke, and slipped from the sod. Not an average sod, but a sod soaked by great rains! The wind wisped,  at speeds sharp as blades. Cut the trees, slice the trees, and dice them as well! Leaving scars of not average size, the battle was over and the trees fell.  Few feet from the home, as the man inside would surely be dead... The branches of each tree caught each other, into and arch. But not an average arch, but a arch of great strength! Shields the home from mother natures great wrath!

Clouds break, showing sunlight, that now a canopy of light over what was left. Items of all kinds bent, crooked out of shape, lay on the paths carved by tree branches. Foot prints, barely visible running in all directions, and craters in the silt, left by the force of pounding raindrops.  And burn marks on grass plains left by the vicinity of lightning. 

Nearly all homes destroyed. Almost all supplies gone. All but one remained safe. An average man, push through sharp branches, coated in moist leaves. He saw the new world. The cries of the innocent. In pain, and hunger. Fear bleeds through the land, for ones still alive. They have nothing. "This arch. It is a wreck. A good disguise for keeping others from my home." He turned around, to enter the arch and sees a figure in the field. A small child alone. Cut, bruised, she weeps in pain. Unable to move in her agony. The average man felt guilt seep through him, and fill his heavy heart.

He brought out food. He brought out furniture. Be even took apart his own home. And mindlessly gave them away to others. He stood in the center of his arch. His arch, of not average strength, now worn and barely supported by the thin frame of his home. "I have nothing now. But is what have I done right? Is it worth helping others?" Sunlight shone from gap atop the arch. It shone, as dewdrops glittered around him. "Yes." And his arch collapsed over him. And now was the end of that man. But he was no longer an average man. He was a hero, of great majesty.

 

A Passion for Gum

Gum, oh gum. I cannot live without thy. Your complexion, of sweet powder, lightly sprinkled at brim. Oh your perfect consistancy to strech and shape under the pressure of my jaw. So lightly you blend and never be too sticky, unlike other known sweets. A confection never to be eaten, you last and last. Oh my apathy of sorrow be apon you for the separation between us. Most of the year, most of the month, most of the week, most of the day. You and all of your wonderfull flavors, banned forever more. They watch, diligently... for a sign. A shish-slosh in anothers mouth. Could it be? Just the slight bearing of one not following guidelines? Oh the consiquences you give me, for my sweet addiction twards you. Never the less, I don't know why it is so. You help me focus, and help me avoid the suffering of hunger.... few hours before my next meal. Anyone may enjoy you silently to keep from annoying others, yet.... Law is law. And for our time being, you and I must wait before we meet again. But as the time goes by, I will never stop thinking of you. Gum, oh gum. My sweet little stick of joy.

Plain.

A new neighborhood was beng developed. There was nothing there so far exept smooth white cement for miles and miles around.  Houses where being built, perfectly shaped, cubes, each overlapping one another, into a smooth  shape. Unpainted, white, cement houses, ontop of the plain white cement ground. Roof tops, pointed up into the coludy sky. Each one, three feet tall. Nothing was different, all was the same. No shingles, no patterns. Nothing. Plain white slate roof tops. Sad porches, of cold white cement, each built with precision. Not an airbubble formed as the cement poured. All plain and white. A boring neighborhood, waiting to be saved by a rich, mixed  population of different people. But will the day ever come?

Haikus of snow~

    A haiku is a non rhyme poem, with five syllables for the first line, seven for the second line, and five again for the third. I live in a place where it never snows, and I have never seen It before. I'm exited for the day I finally do though. I have written a few poems about it. Enjoy. :)

    Feet numb, in whiteness.
Frostbitten wind bites my flesh.
As I view the world.

    Cold slush, all around.
It lays freezing and alone.
And melts in the sun.

    Beautiful blue lake.
Sadly frozen over now.
We wait for summer.