Time is a haunting specter
that no one can deflect,
It stalks us in that Dark,
that knows no name and
strikes in that Light invisible.

It slinks like a skeleton-snake,
slithering and sliding like
a spectral side-winder,
won't see it smile when it
stabs at your soul.

It drains you slowly but surely,
as it makes your hair fall,
and your fair looks fade
till one day you stare inside,
and realize you're nothing
but wrinkles and bones,
waiting to fall to dust.

The fact time passes at all,
should be a felony offense
punishable by death itself,
but let us not mince words.
Death is Time, and Time is Death,
in tandem they work best,
but are yet, one in the same.

The best solution one can find
is to find that magic moment,
frame it like a prized picture,
shoot it like its classic cinema.
Make the most of it so when
Time, that deathly-snake, strikes
you can pass with a smirk and a smile.

A world ruled by my hand
is a world worth knowing,
where the strong thrive,
and the weak survive.

Where people wouldn't be held back
by those who would chain them down,
for the sake of offending others.
The artist could paint whatever he wishes,
The scientist could invent the newest vaccine,
and the laborer could make a honest day's work,
without fear of the highwayman bleeding him dry.

No more regulations or restrictions,
mine would be a world without limitations,
Anyone who didn't match up wouldn't
be bought or sold, simple as that.
And if you didn't like being outshone,
well, just build a better mousetrap.

You might criticize my reign as too lax,
but people can govern themselves
more often than not, and don't need
some dark-suits to tell them how to act.

The only power I'd really give myself
is the ability to enforce the rules,
for while little government is better than big,
nothing at all is just chaos and anarchy,
and that's not a world I'd look over.

Would I let it corrupt me, though?
It's hard to really say, but I've
been always a man of noble-mind,
but of course, it could rush to my head
like a shot of blood, but you can believe
I'd do my best to be upright and honest.

To do my part and use my strength,
to take this world and rule it all,
for the better, for the best.

Time is always passing us by,
leaving us high and dry.
Those days we hope and savor,
seem to fly by like pages of a book.

The good times roll on,
while the bad times stick,
like thick-dark molasses,
but even that too passes.

It's a fact of our grand journey,
that time will ravage all our glory,
our days, our by-ways, and every
which way in between as well.

When the play is over,
and the band has ceased,
and the theater has closed,
little of us will hence remain.

It's a thought that can depress,
into a malaise you can't express,
a raging storm of crisis and doubt
that can spiral into something profound.

But. One thing that can be clutched to,
is a simple fact as true as true.
While time can take so much of us,
our hair, our looks, our medals.

It can leave us old, withered, and grey.
hardly able to remember our names.
or what we've accomplished or did,
but time cannot remove one thing alone.

The moments that shape our souls,
those feelings that strike us deep,
even if the memory doesn't remain,
the sensation remains still in our brain.

That's why it matters most of all,
that we cherish and value those
special moments that can't be
thrown out like week-old garbage.

Take just a moment out of every day,
and think about the times you loved
most and why they mattered so.
Take a picture inside and develop it.

Foster it in the garden of your mind,
so that when we all bid adieu
for that final, fear-filled farewell,
we will leave behind just one moment.

Can't connect,
faces look strange,
out of place,
out of time.

Without rhyme,
no reason,
like tall walls,
between us.

These feelings,
so bizarre,
life so far,
can't connect.

They say good fences make good neighbors,
but the best fences are often our labors.

Those things which pull and keep up apart,
our fears and insecurities preventing a start.

My girl's name is Susan,
she's sweet yet sassy,
she's fun but classy,
smart, ****, never apart,
for 5 long, strong years.
She's a paralegal,
with a pair of legs,
that go on for days.
Bragging isn't my nature,
but I won't lie either.

Tie the knot, not yet,
though the talk has come up,
but we always push it back,
that's a game we don't play.
We've been happy as hell,
always smiling wide,
through the good and bad,
but lately, I think that
things are getting stale.

Like the air in a musty room,
where the AC's been off
and the doors were shut.
Where no one's come in
for years if not more.

It hits you when you step in,
and that's what I'm feeling
like we've met our due date,
like we're past our expiration,
moldy, rotten, and pungent,
a train past its destination.

I don't know what words I ought to say,
I don't know if she's feeling the same way,
or if it's just me, and that's what kills me.
I don't wish to break her heart,
but I think we need to be us, apart.

And you know it isn't her fault,
she's been greater than great,
helped me find myself along the path,
helped me figure who I am,
and she's loved me fully and truly.

It's probably just me being a *****,
never was I one to be content,
needing something new and flashy,
to replace the old and weary.
I want to say this is different, somehow,
but I'd be lying if I said I really know.

Messing up a good thing would be foolish,
cause I know we still have fun when we're out,
and I still care deep down about her.
Idiots always say 'let's be friends', when this happens,
but I really don't want us to lose what we had.

But lying to myself is prolonging the pain,
when our hands clasp, I just don't feel it.
I can't feel something that's just not there.
The gods above couldn't tell how or why,
but whatever once was is there no more.

So one way if not the other,
I'll have to figure out how I'll do this,
even if it pains her bad, like it might,
honesty is always the best, so they say.
I guess I'll see for myself the truth.

She's a shining star, this I know,
but I know I got to let her go.
So she can be the light of
someone else's night-sky.

I'm dreaming of a malibu sunrise,
of days spent in the high-rise,
where the food is filling,
and the drink flows freely.

Where cares, like clouds,
float on the train of the sky,
where the sun shines bright,
and the ocean breathes salty.

I've worked dank, dreary hours,
in a dark and dreary city,
with dim and dreary people,
and I deserve something more.

I desire my malibu sunrise,
where folks treat you well,
where men are friendly,
where women are lovely.

Where dreams, like dogs,
bound along your side,
easy to meet and play,
easy to hold and touch.

What I want is time
to recline downward,
get comfortable,
and truly relax.

With a popcorn-book
and a daiquiri in hand,
my eyes can close and
see my malibu sunrise.

This one is for all those people in life,
who deal with those who give them crap.
Those special, special souls truly deserve
a song of sorts composed just for them.

A song of disdain, a song to complain,
about every ****, clod, and bully one
will ever meet in this thing called life.
This one is for the scalliwags.

We all got someone like that to deal with,
someone who hates on every thing you do,
from the way you look, to the way you comb
your hair, and the way you walk, the way you talk,
and everything in between just because you're you.

It ain't right, and it ain't fair that you gotta deal
with fools like that but it's just one of those facts
when you're playing the game. When you out there
stylin' and profilin', there's bound to be people
jealous and mad because they ain't you.

Allow me to provide a most germane example,
I once knew a fellow named Michael
who used to bug me every single day
in every imaginable petty way.

Dude would always have something smart
to say, like he was some kind of stand-up.
It ****** me off the way he hung around like VD,
and smelled worse than a rotten roach.
I always wondered what the hell I did
that made him despise me so strongly.

But one day, a friend of his filled me in,
Mikey was jealous of my name, my game,
the fact I was so happy and successful,
from crown to sole, I was good as gold.
While he couldn't get a date if he had
a calendar or hold a job if he glued it to
his hands. So the fact that I was me
was enough to make him wanna hate me.

It was pitiable in one way, knowing
he was so down on his luck, and so
pathetic. But, deep down, I couldn't
help but wanna laugh at the clown.
Tears of a clown, they say, but
this time, they were my tears rolling.

One day, I told him thusly,
my man, I used to find you abhorring,
but now I just find you a-boring.
Leave me alone, and try to make
some friends. Maybe you won't be
so empty inside then, my friend.

Now that really got the ***** going,
he was like a little teapot, ready to blow,
he screamed and he cussed, and I just
kept on grinning, showing my pearly whites.
Then he took a swing at somebody,
and then I knocked his *** out clean,
and walked away, feeling that sheen.

So, my good man, commit that to memory.
Haters hate because they hate their lives,
and deep down, they hate themselves.
Don't let their bitter spite affect you,
just waltz on by them, doing you,
and that'll be the best pain of all.