There many more gifted Writers then myself here on the earth.
So I know the truth, that  I am a ok writer whom allow Christ.
To write poetry that is Great through me, not entirely me whom writes.
For he wants to use us all through our writing to bless others here.
For he will always add to a offering in his name to bless our gifts.
To reveal himself to everyone else through each of our gifts here.
When we give the gift to him and deciated it to him here as well.
For there are by more ways to give to God then just our money.
For its far better to look beyond our-self to want others healed.

Biddle-ding deedling,
Hear the sound wind chimes make
Summertime rolling in
East from the west

Lemon wedge swirling round
Whiskey kept icy cold,
Tangy now, bittersweet
Soft words confessed

In songs from Canadian artist
To back street thugs
Saying she's the one they couldn't have
She went by many names
But I knew her real one
From Beethoven to Bon Jovi
Motionless in White to Hollywood Undead
They all wrote about her
When music became oxygen
And all I needed was a symphony
To mend broken lungs
Trying to catch the life
She ripped away from me
When light switches invaded chest cavities

Blowing silence
like a bugle
to announce his dismay

he got set
to make a statement
without speaking for a day

but his mother
just assuming
he had nothing much to say

sent her silent
revolutionary
son outside to play;

outmaneuvered
in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard

for campaigns
of wild muteness,
the rebellion fell apart

to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart

'cause silent protest
tends to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..

are you
criss-crossed
starstruck
routined
day dreamed
*** crazed
hex slaved
are you
nightmare fueled
leaving soon
paranoid
must avoid
money ******
no luck
love starved
too hard
no fun
on drugs
hate sun
are you
worse off
all talk
can't sleep
repeat
back seat
like me
want out
big mouth
head south
don't care
not there
are you
me?