I am smoker, thats what I am.
And it makes me feel good.
When I sit at a bench,
and watch people pass,
With smiles on their faces or scowls as well,
And I love to share a square with someone unknown,
As mine and their story pours out while we both take a drag,
To me that is living and having a good time.
I am a smoker, thats my addiction,
Others hate it, but to me that is love.
Infatuated with nature and its conflictions,
I'll rise really early to watch the sunrise,
The pretty pink colors juxsaposed with purple,
Birds, planes and cars all rushing: rushing somewhere,
Or nowhere at all, I just sit there and wonder,
With tendrils of smoke soaking my clothes,
I do not care to rush, I am a smoker.
Watching in silence trying to witness,
Something worthwhile and great,
While others are worried about being late.
I am smoker, that is my passion,
It might be wrong but it feels so right.
When I go somewhere beautful,
new, old, familiar or strange,
I light up a stick, and blow smoke at the sky,
Blow smoke at those faces, sharing the sight with me.
I will buy a new album and share it with a cigarrette,
While the headphones blast and soothe,
My hand comes to my mouth,
And feeds it its poisons or nutrition.
Call it malicious, but my tenure on this earth,
Wont be so much longer than it is expected.
I am a smoker, that is my sin,
I try to kick it, but it comes back.
Once I did not smoke for six months,
And i felt okay, as I watched others enjoy,
that which I loved and cherished at one point,
But after I abandoned her, my habit that is,
I asked her out once more,
and has not left me since,
She takes care of me when im happy or sad,
When I have been a good boy or bad.
She loves me no matter what,
Even If i did leave her once.
But I will leave her again,
Maybe today or when it has been enough,
But right now I will finish this pack,
And see what comes after.
I search for words
a frantic hand in the sand.
Sand slipping silently through the window
and down the hall
and out the door.
Uncovering the carpet, poor
cat and lampshade
crooked and destroyed.
Nothing to be found
my leg has shattered
I can't feel it
calf shards sit sharp side up.
poker cards on the floor
tank top slipping
off my shoulder
down my arm
rolls blood
and mud;
this stuff feels like bugs.
I keep smearing,
clearing the wreckage,
forgetting your package
as I pass it in the hall.
I love everything about you.
All the little things and big.
Even all the things that I hate.
I love how shy you are,
how annoying and sarcastic you can be,
how you dyed your hair black,
how long it is and how every time that you flip it my heart stops.
I love how your ears are pierced,
how you wear colored contacts,
how you can sit there for hours without talking,
how you would always get distracted and forget to text me back until hours later.
I love your abs and how I think you are smarter than me.
How you can act like an idiot, but know when to stop.
I love how you are so stubborn,
and your smile,
and how even your voice can give me comfort.
Everything!
I love everything about you!
I could sit here for hours just writing them all.
I have loved you since the day I met you.
And as hard as I try nothing in the world can change that.
Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?
Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.
These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.
The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.
Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.
Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?
Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.
These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.
The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.
Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.
Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?
Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.
These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.
The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.
Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.
Who owns the sunset?
Who is mistress of the stars?
Do the navigators of fortune
Sit at a table and boast?
Are the humours four fine sisters?
Can it be that I am
Master of all these things?
Do I hold the yet untwined
Ball of string of the future in my hands?
My hands. My hands of no strength,
My hands of no extraordinary skill,
My hands that arrive at eternity unclean.
These fingers that are whole
In spite of broken spirits
Are treated as the fingers
Of perfection.
Of blamelessness.
Of forgiveness.
The threads of time
Are dusty in my fingers.
A fine mist of sediment
Crumbles at my touch.
Delicate stars are loosened
And burn out in my sight.
Reaching up I return
This future to the hands
In which It belongs.
Stars and light dance down
Into my eyes, and I know
Who owns the sunset.
I sit at my desk
With an empty mind,
An empty inside,
In an empty house
in an empty room
on a lonely street
in a lonley town
without anything to eat.
"she" wont let me be free
im alone no matter what i do,
theres no escape.
theres nothing i can do,
be warned,
"she" will take over you.
Those majestic immovable mountains
As mesmerizing as the prettiest fountains.
No. More so, I know so
Standing here on the highest plateau.
The sky depicts a deep dark hue of blue,
A hue that can make all stress subdue’d.
The air somehow heavier, harder to breathe,
As if God Himself forced my lungs to seethe.
The higher I climbed, the more it burned,
Til the top I reached, and rested, well-earned.
How blue the sky is! I would say,
No wonder they come here to sit and pray.
So close to Heaven, I wonder in awe
If They can see my each and every flaw.
Like a speck on a microscope slide,
I felt Eyes moving with my every stride.
I laughed; what else could I do?
Facing those mountains, refusing to move,
Making their stand, their point to prove.
Stretching far beyond my scope of sight,
These fearless peaks displayed their might.
It was me versus God, no one else there.
I was all alone in the cold thin air.
Now is the time to ask, I thought,
Of all the questions and answers I sought.
I glared at the heavens and began to vent
On why things happened, and what they meant.
And on the mysteries of life, time, and space
Why some people are good, while others disgrace.
Can there be no right in a wrong-filled world,
Where hope is dying, withered, and curled?
O why must Your will be done?
When I have fallen,
Is that when You’ve won?
Why do You listen, and help me not?
Do You watch me in silence,
Or have You just forgot?
Nothing.
I waited for something, an answer, a sign,
Something amazing, something divine.
My yells were turned into echoing spears
Of anger, frustration, and fading tears.
So this is my answer, I mused, understanding.
My life unto you I will be handing.
For I am to walk this earth alone
Soul ever pining for one like my own.
My greatest desire caught in the wind
Carrying my hopes, now chagrined.
But here the mountains will not tire,
They will forever rise higher and higher.
Making their point, remaining unshaken
Here their honor will not be taken.
At last, I shuffled down the gentle slope
Clinging to one last, final, hope.
A gentle breeze brushed against my cheek,
Could something this subtle be what I seek?
I thought of my family and friends who care,
The ones who have stories and memories to share:
Speeding on the highway with the windows down
Yelling with the radio from town to town.
Dancing ‘round cones on a dark-lit stage,
And making money at minimum wage.
Of awkward hawks and dynasties,
And engines failing overseas.
Discussing life, women, and the mind,
And how one so insightful can be so blind.
An epiphany occurred right then and there,
That I wasn’t alone; I shouldn’t despair.
And that ever-gentle breeze picked up once again
Aiding my trek down the gentle terrain.
The mountains continue their looming presence
But for now they don’t seem as intense.
As I set foot onto solid, flat ground
I realized I was lost, and now I’ve been found.
3/12/2009
(c) MDC
Welcome to the Land of Upside-Down
Where sad faces smile and happy ones frown.
Place your coat on the floor and shoes on the rack,
Enter my home and don’t ever come back.
Stand up on the chair and sit on the table,
Only four legs, but it’s still unstable.
Problems arise from nothing at all
With a chance of answers being very small.
Everything is good when in fact it’s all wrong
And you hide it, pretending to be strong.
Your face tells the truth while your words deceive
Causing more pain than you’d like to believe.
Sitting on that table, your silence tells me everything
Knowing the truth makes your conveyance forever sting.
While you make sense in your confused state-of-mind
Your issues feed on my clarity and become intertwined.
So remain on that shaky table as I leave the room
This lively lying home is now your lowly loathing tomb.
As you knowingly forget your atrocious crimes
Remember in this land I see them a thousand times.
And I will remain here, snared by your Goddamned traps,
Even when the world passes on, here t’will never collapse.
Welcome to the Land of Upside-Down
Where hope lives in despair as wishful dreams drown.
10/6/2009
(c) MDC
