My Thoughts betray me to the world.
They're like shotguns firing involuntarily.
So explosive yet so benign, like atoms before the atom bomb. You can't see them, and yet you can
because I am you and you are me.

Sun baked brown soil of the earth.
Silence in its respite.
Resting, waiting…
Seasons passing, snow melting.
Soaking up the essence of the planet,
Storing up richness.
Waiting…

Rumbling.
Silence is broken.
Steel tines pushing dirt into rows.
A seed, spinning, falling.
Now nestled in a bed of brown.
Darkness closes…
The promise sleeps.

Rain, blowing, silence.

What is a poem? Is it something to hear?
Is it something to laugh at, something to fear?
Can it have angry thoughts, or even sad?
Can it have scary thoughts, and even glad?
What is a poem? Is it something to eat?
Something that talks? Something with feet?
Does it describe the happiest things?
Fun-filled weeks? Or an Angel with wings?
Does it take you off and fly you some place –

(Now, I'm not a poet by any means. I can't rhyme words very well because I always seem to pick the wrong words to try to rhyme, and sometimes I dislike the structure of poems...however, there are times I just can't help but write one! I've no idea what you call this type of poem. Maybe free verse?)

All the treasure
In the earth
Gold and jewels

Nothing will last
At a touch

Before I start, I wish to add a small introductory note:

Pistachio the Pirate and his wife Georgianna are characters in a story I'm writing. While not really Pirates in the terms of thievery, they have much that resembles your traditional stereotypical fictional pirate. It's a song sung by the two of them thus their names in the parentheses.

(Pistachio the Pirate)

Every morning the dawn finds you,
on the hill with crook in hand;
watching over your master's herds,
in this pagan, foreign land.

Trusting God to show you His light,
guarding the sheep every day.
Still on the hill you are come darkness,
and through the night there you stay.

Grasping always unto your faith,