I have travelled long and far,
My feet are sore, and my bones weary,
My eyes may see, but I am blind,
My heart may beat, but my soul is dreary,
My back aches from the weight on my shoulders,
My gun isn't as light as it used to be,
My flag isn't as pure as it should be,
I am not as I should be.
I crawl through the darkness of midday,
Plagued by the voices and what they used to say:
Strong man, young man, be the soldier of fortune,
Strong man, young man, sing the songs of your nation's tune,
Strong man, young man, come back with stories to tell,
Strong man, young man, go my boy, and show them hell,
Strong man, young man, hold up your shoulders,
Strong man, young man, go now, and be a soldier.

I have lost my mind in the madness,
I have lost my heart in the sadness,
Ghosts and family haunt my every waking moment,
The pleasure of life is now no more than blood filled torment,
I have seen the face of the Devil in the bowels of hell,
I have kissed Death, and I have lived to tell,
So listen to my stories, oh yea plagued and unfulfilled,
Bath with me in the blood of the men I have killed,
Blow your trumpets and your drums to the music of war,
I held up my shoulders, and now they are no more,
But I survived.
So sing your songs and chant your praises, but I don't need them,
You sold my soul.
Mother, I'm coming home.

Annabel wore white
as she laid under a Willow
She brought her brown basket
and a comfortable red pillow

She laid in the shade,
writing and reminiscing.
Bringing forth a smile
for the one she was missing.

Her days had been growing longer
and she knew wasn't fearless.
Sitting under their Willow
writing to her dearest

She wrote about his charm
She wrote about his smile
She wrote about his laugh
She wrote about his style

She wrote until the Sun turned off the day
She wrote from her heart and all it couldn't say

Annabel finally stood, picked up her basket and started walking home.
Leaving all her notes and poems, upon his gravestone.

insides dead,
driftwood emotions,
oceans of regret.
swept under the waves.
Betterdays,
in the horizon.
Hard to find them
in the abyss
of bad habits
that i’ve inhabited.
Agoraphobic,
closed off,
like a treacherous day.
Doors locked,
subdued,
constant moods,
brooding storms in submarines,
under the weather
&
under the sea.
show me the coral reef,
of beautful feelings,
and creatures,
the features of life.
Evade me by day,
and escape me at night.
i can’t fathom the colloquial,
of the same old ****.
i’m down with my nothing,
and i’ll sink with the ship.