Man of the people
Stands on his steeple.

Spewing only lies
That the public buys.

He speaks of the truth
To bolster his booth.

"Join me, my fellows!"
Does his voice bellow.

A voice of honey,
He's made of money.

Sickeningly sweet.
Yet none have him beat.

A fake smile does hide
That which lie inside.

His heart is all dark.
He bears the true mark.

One alone must rise.
Render truth from lie.

I shall take the task.
Make him shed his mask.

And so, I shall stand
With rifle in hand.

Shall aim as I must,
To do what is just.

Tonight, o', tonight.
The dust shall he bite.

Ah, on nights such as these
Does my heart long for thee.
The cold, does it linger
Making my heart malinger.
Still I continue.

Winter shields not the ever-present thoughts
Of all that we were, had, and could have been.
My mind, it does continue to ponder
As my feet trudge and sluggishly wander.

O', what joy did you and I once possess?
I remember how your eyes did sparkle.
An emerald's gleam could not dare compare
And let's not speak of that smile that did glow.

Before we met, my heart, it was frozen.
Made hard by much anguish and constant grief.
As the storm of life battered my soul's sails,
A glacier, my heart grew cold and icy.

Careless, distant, and blase was my life.
I grew too cold to other people's strife.
What friends I had soon made their departure.
I was alone, and alone was I pleased.

But you were the one who opened my eyes.
Your beauty shook all my preconceptions.
'Twas not just your comeliness that stunned me.
Like a Fae sprite, you ******* my winter spite.

You challenged, and you motivated me
To change and to care about life once more.
It took some time, but I knew you were mine.
I came to love you, and you did love me.

But my eternal bad luck proved fatal.
To probe my memories brings just trouble.
Safe to say, you left me snow-blind and cold.
Winter is my nature, my creed, my state.

As the fallen fall leaves crunch at my feet
I can deny not my life's defeat.
All my joy and sorrow has come to naught.
I may as well roam among the snowmen.
'Twould mean just as much.

My friend, so full of heart
Shall bring light to the dark.

My friend is good and kind,
Sharp of wit, and bright mind.

My friend will be the one
With her many tales spun

To turn our world around
Until she wears the crown.

She possesses the make
To conquer our life’s race.

But either way, she is
My friend for evermore,
A mighty writing ****,
And a foe nevermore.

When I was a lad,
I saw those that had,
And those who had not.
It would make me sad,
It would make me mad,
In my head, I thought.

I want a better day.
I need a better way
To make this world today,
A better, better day!

As the years went on,
I grew on and on,
But life seemed to stay
The same, one big con.
Of who lost or won,
One day, I will say.

I want a better day.
I need a better way,
To make this world today
A better, better day!

I’ve grown old these days,
Sitting by the bay.
Life has gone and passed
Me most far away.
But, still, as I lay,
I’ve but one line to cast.

I’ve made a better day,
I’ve found a better way
That makes my world today
A better, better day!

The Man of Today is no more.
Greed, prejudice, the game of war,
Have settled this world’s final score.

I, the Man of Tomorrow, will
Entirely of my own will,
Set this sick, blighted world alight.
All must bow before my might.

There are those who see Life as taking,
People who grift, steal, and plunder.
Hardly a World worth remaking.
The only recourse? Destruction.

I once believed it could be saved,
A renewed path that would be paved.
With I, the light to shine the way,
The World would begin its new day.

But despite my pride and heart’s flare,
I found those who could not spare care.
Fools who took kindness for granted,
They who took Me for a good tool.

As my quest went on, I wondered.
‘Can this World be saved?’ I pondered.
Or had it reached its end limit?
Had the clock hit its last minute?
Soon enough, I thought a grave thought.
‘Does THIS World deserve my saving?’
It disturbed me, but Life went on,
And each day, all seemed too far-gone.

Until the day which shaped my mind.
A man of rags, who I once fed,
Pointed his dull knife at my head,
Demanding my money in kind.

From that day on, I decided.
The Man of Tomorrow had
To replace the Man of Today.

I’m not the kind of nasty guy
Who’d leave a nice girl high and dry.
When you need me most, I’ll be there,
With handy handkerchief in hand.

That’s right, I’m really pretty cool.
I always enunciate and rarely drool.
Though I guess my pillow’d beg to differ.
Unless you drool a lot, or suffer from liver quivers.
I’m certainly not the kind of who’d judge someone’s oral secretions.

All I know is that I like you lots,
Even more than tater-tots,
And that really does say a lot.
Trust me, I really like tots.
Would you like some tater-tots?
I do happen to have quite a lot.

Silly me, all this talk of tot and tater
Makes me realize the night is growing later.
Mother Moon really is a big hater.
Was that just a lazy rhyme for later?
It’s hard to say, but hey, did you like the cater-
Ing? I know it was mostly taters, but you know…
Potatoes are known for their versa-tater-ility.

Ah! What I meant to say is you look quite pretty.
From your eyes to your toes, I’d say… hit me!
Not that I’m into that sort of thing, no, not me.
Only you’re cool with it? Then sure… slap me
Around a little! Here’s my head on a tee.
I should apologize, my self-deprecating tendencies seem to be kicking in roughly again tonight.
And golly! That last line was long.
I seem to be getting this all wrong.

All I mean to say is that I’d like to kiss your face
But only if you’re cool with it. I’m not one
To take advantage of a girl, or tell her her place.
Trust me, I had a sister who put me in my place
Like A-LOT! Ha! No… no sisters actually. I still know my place.
Just please don’t hit me in the face.
Unless you’d really like to, I guess. Wait, no, that’s weird to say.
Just give me a moment to compose my thoughts and say
What I really want to say to you today, or er, tonight, really.

…I love you. There I said it!
No need to regret it!
Wait, please don’t walk away!
I really do mean what I say!

Step right up and feast your eyes,
On something not meant for mortal eye.
Hide your children, and your wife,
For they could faint from the fright,
And the grisly, grim sight of sights.
And allow me to give you pause.

Even in chains, this freak may bite.
So look carefully, keep on guard.
For here lies Lady Disturbia,
High Queen of the Freaks,
Duchess of Disturbing Delight,
And Princess of Putridity.

Ah, do you doubt my word?
From behind, you say she looks
Divine. Hair, like golden wheat.
A waist so slim and so trim,
And legs so long and so supple.
An image of beauty, so you say.

But don’t be fooled by our Queen,
Simply look from another angle.
See her true face, now if you dare.
See her lovely lips, and doll nose,
See from her one, lone eye,
The rain that falls, and retreat!

Never did a man’s heart beat,
As when ours did first meet.
To hold your hand was sweet.
To have love was a treat.

I knew of love, I did.
Before you, my heart hid.
I couldn’t put it on bid.
I chose to keep me alid.

Yet, by luck or by chance,
I found romance, and a chance
A new chance to enhance
All I knew, with a dance.

So I say to you, love,
My peach, my sweet, my dove,
Place me in your heart’s cove.
And I shall know much love.

The Boxer stands in the ring,
A man who used to be King.
Across stands The Young Lion,  
A man who will be a King.

The Boxer shakes his aged head,
A man who had fists of lead.
Across scoffs The Young Lion,
A man who has fists of lead.

The Boxer sighs, his last fight,
A man who has lost his light.
Across strides The Young Lion,
A man who gleams with light.

The bell rings, and the fight begins.
The Boxer strikes, though he won’t win.
The Lion roars, winning in ten.

The Boxer slumps to the floor,  
A man who can take no more.
Above smiles The Young Lion,
A man who only wants more.

The Boxer smirks as he lay,
A man who knows the way.
Above stands The Young Lion,
A man who knows not the way.

The Boxer leaves, knowing this one thing.
There is always a new and waiting King.

The Outsider stands far away.
Looking at a world not meant for him.
A world, as if from another day.

The Outsider tries to fit in,
Tries to belong, but simply does not.
He is strange, he lacks grace within.  

He has spent years, and years.
Attempting to find a place to be,
And has found only tears, and tears.

He has faced mockery and scorn.
From those who would judge.
He has no one to mourn.

The Outsider sighs, as he gives up the fight.
Seeing no other option or choice,
He retreats into the listless night.

You’re so wonderful, you make me hate myself.
You’re so delightful, you make me cringe and groan.
You’re so marvelous, you make me furious.
You’re so generous, you make me want to die.

I see your smiling face, and frown.
I hear your kindly voice, and cry.
I touch your perfect skin, and sigh.
I watch your refined mien, and retch.

I think myself a good person,
A Decent, Hard-Working fellow.
But whenever I see you,
I only think of myself akin to a wretched rat.
Fit to fight for bits of trash in a rotten dumpster,
And Nothing more.

Why must you be so excellent?
Why must you be so lovely?  
Why must your light shine like diamonds?
Why must my heart be clouded with darkness?
And why must you make me feel so ugly inside?

It’s not your fault, not at all.
But you do this to me, you know.
You tear me to bits, doing nothing at all.
Part of me wishes to love you, head to toe.
The other wants to hate your guts, all and all.

I know not what to do about you.
If there is anything to do.

Should I bare my heart, and tell-all?
Or should I hold it inside, and grin through clenched teeth?

I can’t say.
But I do know this one fact.

You are the essence of peerless perfection, and that is why
I will never be as good as you, no matter how I try.
And so I am left to do little but burn inside your light.

In all the worlds, in all the places.

Let it be not said,
Of me or mine that
Vaguely my heart does beat.
Everything I feel, I feel extremely.

Yes, it is true, believe it or not.
Openly shall I say, truly shall I speak.
Us is what I hope we can be.

Many things could I say of you,
Even though it wouldn’t do you justice.
Goodness is all you radiate.
And this I can utter without doubt.
Nothing can compare to my love for you.

The night was long and the sky was pitch-black.
A long day of work for me had ended.
I found myself walking the long road back.
Had I known what cruel, sick fate portended,
I would have stayed at home that dark, drab day.

The trees surrounded the road on each side,
Making it hard to note even your hand.
The gloomy trees did make the path not wide.
Still I trod, waiting for familiar land.
In the distance, creatures began to stir.

Knowing no better, I continued on.
Even as my neck-skin began to shake,
I knew I just had to make it home, soon.
When I could begin to feel the ground quake,
My uneasy walk became a swift pace.  

Vibrations of the hard earth were no joke.
And as I hurried, my ears heard faint noise.
A rustling of a nearby bush, I bespoke.
Just the wind, I thought, to maintain my poise.
But I could sense something unbecoming.

As the strong tremors of the dirt endured,
I lost my footing, and fell right over.
Cuts and scrapes made my vision obscured.
But which saw sight which made me seek cover.
A sight of a rotting, wretched, ripe corpse!

I recoiled roughly rearward, in great shock.
Never had I seen such a stark, grim sight.
Looking, it seemed death by self-caused Glock.
As best I could see by what little light.
Panicked, I found myself dashing away.

With scarce thought or mind to which direction,
My legs ran as fast as they could dare fare,
Though my mind didn’t make the connection,
That I could walk into something’s vile lair.
I had to forget that which I had seen.

My mind did not awaken till I was,  
In a darkened, moistened, and chilled cave.
Having composure anew, I felt fuzz,
As I considered if it would be safe,
The slight static popping in my ears stayed.

For whatever reason, I did not leave.
It was cold, wet, and pouring down outside.
And I still needed a moment to grieve
That poor, lonely soul still lying outside.
All the while as I stood, the static stayed.

Feeling piqued, and on edge, I explored it.
The cold cave seemed abandoned and alone.
I could see little, due to dark unlit.
But my ears did pick up a strange, low groan.
Mixing with the ringing, rattling static.

I was most disturbed, yet I could not stop.
Something greater compelled me to walk on.
The next noise I did hear was a loud pop.
Like the sick dislocation of a bone.
Inwardly, I noted the static sound.

After much traversing, I reached the end.
My heart was beating a drum in my chest.
I knew I had myself with which to fend.
As the static in my ears would attest.
It had reached a fevered, maddening pitch.

What I saw defied imagination.
Obtuse, abstract, yet horrifying sights!
Creatures of inhuman shape and proportion!
Their only clear feature, eyes gleaming bright,  
As they lurched and shook, as if in a dance.

Screaming wildly, I ran from that foul place.
Feeling the static cling onto my face.

Jack Oliver stops at a gas station,
Near a small, rural town: Elation.
Elation was the town of Jack’s youth,
Where he grew tall, and chipped his tooth.
Where faded memories now lay like aged dirt.

With a sigh, he wonders where it went.
The happiness that now seemed spent.
Now he works a big time job in a big time city.
Where the men sweat while the girls look pretty.
Where the dog eats the dog, and the cat starves.

Wearily looking out, he notes the road sign.
Elation, within walking distance, so says the sign.
While he had a place to be, and a job to be done,
There was time for a quick stop, judging by the sun.
Shrugging his shoulders, he leaves the car behind.

Boot-covered feet trod the beaten road,
Cars pass him by without a care, but to be fair,
He hardly gives a care for himself, and none for them.
On the way there, he reflects on his childhood.
Ups and downs, there were plenty to be recalled.

First loves, fights, and friendships many.
Graduations, grieving, and grinning plenty.
His mother, Catherine, sweet as could be.
His father, Rod, rotten as could be.
His brother, Tommy, no longer with him.

As his mind wandered through the long and winding years,
There is a part of him that cannot fight the tears.
As he begins to wonder what even drew him here,
Seeing the town limits of his hometown, Elation,
His heart is filled with a bittersweet deflation.

For minutes, he simply stands on the cold ground.
And then, it hits him harder than a boxer’s hook,
All memories, good, bad, and horrible, must be
Confronted, and faced where they occurred,
And that to run away was to admit defeat.

Smirking, he shakes his head, and steps forth.
Prepared to meet the town of his youth.
His Elation now 20 years older, but no bigger.
For better or worse, he was prepared.
Prepared to face it, with a new, deeper insight.

The Unknown Soldier fights for freedom,
Fights for tyranny, fights for God, and
Fights for himself, all in one.

His name, or rank matters not.
The Unknown Soldier can be Private
Or General, a Smith or a Ramirez.

He can stand for the holy light,
Or he can stand for the wicked darkness.
The Unknown Soldier fights regardless.

What matters most is doing what’s told,
Doing his job to his best ability,
And serving his authority as best he can.

Good or bad, evil or righteous,
There are unknown soldiers in each
And every country, each with a family.

So, remember. When you criticize the ‘enemy’,
The Unknown Soldiers are following orders,
Just like you, and just like me.

When you’re watching your TV,
And you see people in snappy suits,
Screeching about right and wrong,
Yelling how they will fix it all,
Doubt half of what you see,
And of what you hear, all.

‘Cause people like that, you know,
Can’t be trusted to lead a horse
To water, nor lead you and me.
Their words sound so nice and true,
But look in their eyes, my friend,
And see what really lies through.

Greed, avarice, and malice together,
Form the heart of people like them.
Demons in disguise, they are,
Monsters we gave human form.
Let’s not let these beasts of our burden
Become our new and stated norm.

And trust me well on this, folks.
For I’ve walked among the beasts.
And I know better than to trust them.
But let me say this, just to be sure.
You can definitely trust a man like me.
Of my honorable deeds, I needn’t assure.

Ah, this snappy suit of mine, you ask?
Well, don’t you worry none at all, pal,
Because I’m a guy you can trust your life to,  
A good, honest fella who you can depend on.
I’ll hold up them traditional values dear,
I’ll lead us all, you’ll see once I’ve won.

Tell me, o’ lover of mine, o’ lover of mine.
Do you love me true, love me true?
And will you let me, oh mine, be thine,  
In the thick and the thin through?

Tell me, o’ lover of mine, o’ lover of mine
Will you be my darling true, darling true?
Will you drink my heart like the finest wine,
And turn this one fool into us two?

Tell me, will you love me whole, love me whole?
And please, will you love me full, love me full?
For so long I’ve had, deep inside, a vast hole,
Won’t you please make this loneliness cull?

For if, o’ lover, o’ lover, you were to pass me by,
I’d surely feel naught but emptiness inside,
And do you want to see this poor fool cry?
So, if you please, just give me a try.

Tell me, o’ lover of mine, o’ lover of mine,
Will you be my darling true, darling true?
Will you slice off the vines, slice the vines?
And make me happy true, happy true.

When I lay me down to sleep,
And I try to close my eyes,
And escape to another land,
And yet find myself still awake,
I find myself wondering this one thing.

What is real and what is dream?
What is truth and what is fiction?
What is genuine and what is false?
What makes a dream a dream and reality real?

I can count the many times in my dreams,
When they seemed so real, so very true.
Speaking to family, watching things that could be.
The sensations spoke to me of truth.

Yet once I woke, I could not recall, not at all.
Hardly the faintest remembrance of what I saw.
What I heard, and what I felt, no, not at all.
And many times, I dismissed it at that.

But on those uncertain nights where sleep eludes me,
I look back on those ‘dreams’, and ponder, ponder.
Who can say if those feelings, which seemed so real,
Were, indeed, just a dream, vague remembrances, nothing more.

Could it be so that the land of dreams is the one true reality?
And that our day-to-day lives are the real falsehoods?
And through our ‘dreams’, the only escape into the real world is found.
And yet cursed we are to only see it when we go to sleep.

Then again, perhaps I am merely suggesting lunacy.
And our day to day world is as we know it, real.
And dreams are just pieces of memory glued together.
When one cannot sleep, the mind will wander, wander.

Of this I cannot say what is real and what is dream.
Or what is truth and what is fiction.
All I can truly do is think and wonder.
If reality is not real, but just another dream we are making.

Roses in the sky,
Fall before my eye.
Shades of red and white
Form a picture bright.

A landscape of love,
A picturesque grove.
Green shrubs and trees tall
Complement it all.

I see the sun set,
I watch the sky beget
A coming spring night.
As the stars wound tight.

I reflect on this,
And wonder listless.
At the sight of roses
Falling from the sky.

There is no grace in suffering.
There is no honor in abuse.
There is no dignity in hardship
There is no virtue in stoicism.

Abuse is simply abuse.
Suffering is simply suffering.

You are no saint nor martyr.
You are just a victim.
And until you choose not to be,
That is all you will ever be.

I speak for thee.
I sing for thee
I scream for thee.

I am the talk of the town, the chatter of maidens
The booming of laborers, the joy of the youth.
All the voices of Man are the voices of Me. I speak for Thee
In Me, there exists all things, and in all things, exists Me.

I am the love that burns in all human, the
Desire to meet, to mark, to mate, it so primordial.
I write the songs of love, of friendship, of ardor. I sing for Thee
In Me, there exists all things, and in all things, exists me

I am the heart beating red, radiant, and real,
The pulse of a nation, the beating of the war-drum
Inflicts a beating upon Me. I scream for Thee.
In Me, there exists all things, and in all things, exists Me.

I want to see less of You, and more of Me,
And this is why I speak to Thee.

I am just a simple tailor,
Idly measuring, metering,
Stitching and sewing.
Fixing the fabrics,
And Buttoning the buttons,

But in my lives past,
I was many things,
Memorable and momentous.
Adventurous, and ambitious.
I can almost recall them all.

In one life, I sang the body electric.
Dancing, and swaying, and singing.
Songs of love, songs of life.
Songs of home, songs of heart.
I brought joy to the hearts of men.

In another, I rode a ship of heroes
Guiding and turning them all.
My men trusted me eternally,
And I never led them astray.
Adventure was our destination.

In another, I spoke for the voiceless.
The downtrodden, the derelict,
The beaten, and the broken.
They who couldn't speak for themselves
I gave them their own voice.

In another, I fought for right.
The right to think, the right to speak
The right to be, the right to exist.
I fought for a better life,
And one worth dying for.

In another, I wrote what people needed.
In my prose, they found comfort and care
They found my beating heart, my bared soul
I gave them of myself,
And they gave me their love.

This life is simple.
This life is humble.
But it's a life worth living,
A life worth loving.
A life worthy because it helps others.

I am the price you can't pay.
I am the debt you can't repay.

I am the monster under your bed
I am the demon in your head.

I am the test you can't pass.
I am the trial you can't outlast.

I am the truth you can't surmise.
I am the lie you can't disguise

I am the sun you can't outrun.
I am the moon you can't shun.

I am the slight you can't ignore
I am the friendship you can't restore.

I am the hate that bleeds you dry.
I am the tears you can't cry.

I am the lust you crave.
I am the trust you gave.

I am the change you won't make
I am the chance you won't take.

I am the life you waste.
I am the love you debased.

I am the self-loathing that binds you.
I am the pain that winds you.

I am the drug you desire.
And I am the high you require.

In the night, two meet.
Two fighters compete.

Their blades shimmer,
and their wills shine.

What do they fight for,
and what do they die for?

For the pride, or for
the joy of killing?

For the glory, or for
the taste of violence?

Ending a live is
no small feat.

To see the last breath,
to hear the last words.

To be there when they die,
to know you were the last.

Is there joy to be had?
Is it sick, is it mad?

As their blades clash,
it becomes clear.

The fun of the fight,
matched only by the end.

Two fighters fight,
in the dark of night.

Only one stands tall,
but what has he won?

And what has he become?

A warm spring afternoon,
crimson roses in bloom.
Forest-green trees,
and a slight, slight breeze.

Upon a stump, I do sit.
behold do I the birds a-flit.
Oranges, blacks, and yellow,
the joy of a coming mellow.

Sounds ring a-many,
as noises make a-plenty
The buzz of brash bees,
the wind through the trees,

The colors and sounds,
the heat and mounds.
The earth, the sky, and me,
the feeling fills with me, glee.

If red was blue,
and black was white.

If up was down,
and left was right.

If light was dark,
and day was night.

If life was fair,
and good was right.

If lie was truth,
and love was spite.

Then a world there could be for you and me.

But.

The world is round.
The earth is ground.

The dirt is brown.
The grass is grown.

And you are you, and I am me.

When you take a look around,
and watch the marble turn.
It's easy to say the world is doom.
That all we are is glum gloom.

Look at all the sad people,
sobbing in the streets.
Look at all the sad people,
struggling on their feet.

But take a look inside,
and see the happiness blossom.
From the children at play,
from the future seen today.

Don't let your views be clouded,
by the plastic lies on T.V.
When you take the world as it truly is,
with your eyes, you will anew see

The happy child, the gleeful pup.
The grinning girl, the joyous cat.
There is beauty in it all.
From the very tall to the small.

In laughter and in loving,
our true truth is made clear.
To love another is to touch the sky,
to make one laugh is most dear.

What a miracle it is to just be,
truly it is a gift worthy of thee.

The days we shared
walking down the boardwalk
of love.

The unfettered letters
of our passion, and
our soul.

The nights we spent,
together in body, and
in heart.

When I see your picture,
knowing you aren't there.

I realize something is missing.

The Queen of the Diamond,
she of beauty and grace.
she of poise and elegance,
she of ribbon and lace.

The King of the *****,
he of joking and laughter
he of roughness and fun,
he of jacket and leather.

The Queen stood tall,
over her subjects, the
serfs of the schoolyard.
The Barons, Earls, and Counts,
alike tried to garner her favor.

All to no avail, as the Queen
was not interested in their advances.
Or in affairs of the heart altogether.
She was busy with her own lofty goals,
yet, how the countesses talked...

The King was once but a serf,
a simple, silly, joking jester.
But he had a way, and a manner,
an ability to please and to appease,
in ways the nobles could not.

However, all he really was
was a punchline, a tool for laughter.
He longed for more, and then more.
He desired importance, and status,
and not the derision of the clowns.

The Queen graced him with
her royal presence, one spare day.
With his jokes, and jests, and
his knightly sincerity, the King
managed to win her over.

In time, they made an alliance.
A partnership, an agreement,
sealed by a regal kiss. Together,
They won what they both desired.
in spite of what others conspired.

The Queen got some solace from
the nagging hand-maids, her fellow
nobles and others asking when she'd
find herself a sweet suitor, a man.
So that she could focus on her dreams.

The King finally earned respect,
the kind that comes from moving up.
No longer was he just another serf,
he could instead joke and upshow
the smug nobles of the royal court.

Yet as the seasons passed, they came to
realize that little had they in common.
The Queen was studious and stern,
The King was slack and slow at work.
They had fun, but little was earned.

Respect only went so far really,
and the King could feel it was forced,
and the Queen still had to put up with
questions of when they would be wed.
Their struggles were still present.

Camelot would not amaze much longer,
as the King and the Queen would go
their separate paths, amicably as could be.
The Queen realized that only she could
determine her own self-worth.

A lesson that rang true for the King,
as well. Self-respect mattered more,
than 'respect' from others, that can flit,
and flutter. And so, through each other,
The King and Queen got what they needed.

When you told me about Burning Man, I must confess,
that I felt the idea was simply a mess.
And now since I see what you really did mean,
I can safely say now that I'm none too keen.

Couldn't we have just gone to Lollapalooza?

Don't believe her candy-coated lies, and
don't fall for the girl with candy apple eyes.

Her face is so sweet,
but her heart is sour
Good enough to eat,
Make a man dour.

She'll lick them full lips,
and charm you like that.
She'll shake them wide hips.
while you watch her strut.

Don't believe her candy-coated lies, and
don't fall for the girl with candy apple eyes.

You think she's tasty,
and you're 'bout to score.
But don't get hasty,
or you won't see more.

She'll leave you breathless,
and begging for more.
But you'll be sexless,
your face on the floor.

So don't believe her candy-coated lies, and
don't you dare fall for the girl with candy apple eyes.

I build you up,
I bring you down,
I pull you in,
I throw you out.

I'm tearing you down.

You tried all your life,
to keep me down,
to run me 'round,
to put me in that ground.

You laughed at me,
you spurned my name,
you stomped my face,
you stabbed my heart.

And now, I'm taking it back.
I'll stand my ground,
I'll rip this earth up,
and I'll tear you down.

You built a wall,
to keep me out,
to hold me down,
to lord over all.

You slapped my face,
you called me names,
you spit on my face,
you broke my spirit.

I know deep down,
that you're hurting,
that life beat you down,
but you can't do the same to me

I won't let you tear me down,
and if I gotta, I'll burn you out,
I'll toss you 'round, I'll make you a clown,
I'll mess you up, and I'll tear you down.

A pleasant scent wafts through the air,
as the summer passes by without a care.


Don't trust the man in the suit,
he is a man of ill repute.

His placid disposition,
hides a rancid composition.

The grin on his features,
as he walks among the creatures.

Like the grin of a red fox,
as it hears the chicken's squawk.

Like the gleam of the brown bear,
as it corners the scared hare.

He's not one to be trusted,
its violence for which he's lusted.

He's the strings of the puppet,
and he'll watch your hopes plummet.

As your chances decompose,
he'll be laughing under your nose.


A pungent stench reeks through the air,
as fall approaches, yet no one cares.

When I look into your amber eyes,
I know I can no longer deny,
the way you make me feel inside.

No more can I, these feelings hide,
No more can I, try to disguise,
No more can I, wonder why.

I got to be true to me,
and got to do good by you,
and let you know these feelings true.

I don't know if you feel the same,
I don't know if you think I'm plain,
or if you'll even recall my name.

But I know if I build this wall,
no matter how big or how tall.
I'll still be loving you all.

So let's cut this white static,
and maybe cause a little havoc,
and maybe make me ecstatic.

You can love me or leave me,
you can hug me or mug me,
you can kiss me or miss me.

I just got to let you know,
so baby, I'll start the show.
Won't you be my loving beau?

O', my grace, my Empress of the Sun.
Your beauty, your glamour, it burns me deep.
Do not tell me that we are to be done.
Do you wish to watch this wretched wretch weep?

After all that I, your darling, went through,
will you truly toss our love to the side?
After the world which I moved all for you,
will you slice and then slight my justly pride?

I implore you to hence reconsider,
if you realize what is best for your head.
Do not make me a sick, sinful sinner,
if you do wish to not thence become dead.

Please, I beg of you, just be mine alone,
and let me rest upon your flaming throne.

Everyone in the world today,
has a place, has a role to play.
In this turning world of ours,
everything's in its place proper.

Everyone has got a role to fill,
everyone and everything, in
every possible way has a part,
in the great act called Life.

From the humble farmer,
to the noble doctor,
they all do their job
to make our world turn.

The teacher who teaches,
the judge who judges,
the butcher who butchers,
the plumber who plumbs.

From the sweat of their brow,
our orb is able to function,
From the toil of their labor,
our earth runs like a machine.

If just one person
couldn't find their way,
then all around us,
would soon fall into disarray.

Everything in its place proper
makes for a world stable.
Just one thing out of place,
and the whole thing is ruined.

Like a stack of playing cards
or a tall, towering stack of blocks,
it requires perfect, precise placement
for premium optimization.

Consider the burning sun,
and the frozen moon.
Just inches difference apart
could not support us at all.

Or the very force of gravity,
that keeps our feet grounded.
Were it too strong or too weak,
our world would be flattened.

From the atoms that make us,
to the planets that hold us,
to the people that shape us,
to the decisions that change us.

So when you begin to wonder
if you'll ever find your place,
just remember this one fact
Everything is in its place proper

What a crime it is that a man ought to die.
That our feeble lives, like calendar marks,
pass by so quickly and without warning.
What is 70-80, 90 if you're lucky, years
really worth in the big picture?

What can a man amount to honestly
when as soon as he breathes, he dies?
He can do a lot and achieve much, sure,
but imagine what more could be done,
what could be made, with just a
few centuries more time to play with.

Imagine the discoveries we could find,
the secrets of time and space unraveled,
the elixirs of health that could destroy disease,
and everything else on earth that could
be made better if we only had the time.

Imagine the weight off our shoulders lifted,
when no longer must we fear the Eternal Footman,
no longer must we fear the passing of the seasons,
or the changing of the times, or even the start
of a new day, as we would all be there together.

People could live fully and happily,
knowing they had all the time in the world,
and no sick, twisted date with Death
awaiting them on the gilded horizon.

As it is now, time passes us by,
before we know it, and in the dust,
we pathetic humans are left.
In the scheme of the grand design,
a life is just a few puny particles,
of a few tiny granules of sifting sand
in a cosmic sandbox.

For humanity to truly continue its noble path,
we must find the secret code to stop aging,
to make our cells replicate anew forever,
or at least, for a few more centuries,
so that our destiny can be achieved,
to make a world truly terrific.

A world of youth, a world of beauty,
A world of truth, a world of joy.

Rotting men walking rotted streets,
as rotten scents choke the pungent air.
Their tired, weary, restless feet
pound the agitated concrete,
which is as worn and weary
as the people who so rudely
stomp its grayed features.

They make their way to their jobs,
their means of survival, the place
where much like zoos and reserves,
they are poked and prodded, pestered,
and provoked by smiling, grinning men
who are above them on the evolutionary
totem pole that we call the rat race.

So they laugh off the abuse labeled as 'jokes',
they suffer and endure countless injustices
from their fellow animals and their zookeepers,
all so that they continue to earn their measly peanuts,
all in hopes that they can save their nuts,
and maybe buy something that will
give their own existence some new meaning.

A new car, a new TV, a new bit of restless noise,
new white static that will fill the void of
emptiness that they all suffer inside,
and then when the new becomes old,
the process starts anew with another
new trinket or new toy to make more noise.

And so they return home from their misery-laded
job, to a home of misery where their wife
chides them and chastises as a way to
vent her own frustrations at her own personal zoo
where she was poked and prodded and made
to question her own self-worth, her own happiness.

She yells at them for forgetting to put the clothes
in the dryer, although she had clearly said the night
before that she would take care of it and then
she fusses at them for forgetting to put his cup up
even though they were JUST getting ready
to throw it in the dishwasher if she would just
give them a minute to finish their sandwich.

It takes all their strength to not just scream
right back and give her something worth
yelling over, but as their teeth clench,
and their eye twitches, they simply nod
and yes dear until she is satisfied, and leaves
them to go work on their sudoko after-dinner.

With the dishes put up, the clothes in the dryer,
as they are sure to not make the same mistake
twice, their children approach them, begging for
attention and affection, and while they can't blame them,
right now they just want to take a minute to relax
and not hear any more voices of any kind.

But as the child raises their voice to scream,
they wave them off and give them what they wish
for hours, until they tire themselves, and mercifully,
most mercifully, they can be put to bed and put
out of mind for the rest of the night.

The midnight hour fast approaches,
and so they resolve to enjoy the last few hours
of their night, but right as they prepare to
enjoy the newest episode of the newest tv shows,
their smartphones bleats its high-pitched ring.

Its their zookeeper, asking if they can come
into work tomorrow early, even though its the weekend,
and they were promised to get the weekend off,
for the fifth time in as many weeks, but they REALLY
need them to come in and help the cause.

They want to scream, they want to shout,
but they know they can't refuse, because
the first time they dare to, they will be treated
like even worse dirt on shoe if not outright
replaced by a more willing circus animal.

So, through a forced grin,
that can be heard over the phone,
they accept and thank their keeper
for giving them the opportunity
to work once more, and as they hang up,
their wife asks who it was calling at this long hour

They explain it was just their work,
wanting them to come in again, which
makes the wife mad, as she yells at him
for not spending enough time with her
and the kids and why can't he just say no
every once in a while, it's not like they'll
fire him for not showing up one time.

The wife doesn't understand that
his job is what funds her spending,
her lifestyle, their lifestyle, for that matter,
in spite of their best attempts to explain,
and so they fight, and fight, into the night,
until they just decide to give it up, and go to sleep.

The sun rises, and they get up, and
eat their eggs, and put their cup up, and
get dressed, and get ready for one more day
at work hoping that at least sunday will be a free day,
but they have an odd sick feeling in their stomach
that they'll be called in once more early in the morning,
and be forced to make that same rotten walk
to their same rotten old miserable job.

I loved you when,
you glowed like the sun,
when the skies were clear
and the clouds were puffy.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
your heart was open,
when your soul was pure,
and your light was shining.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
we were together as one,
when our hands were clasped,
and our lips were matched.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
you loved me too.
When our love had yet,
to fall apart like falling cards.
Oh, how I loved you then.

I loved you when,
you didn't hurt me,
when you didn't curse me,
and didn't slap my face.
Oh, how I loved you then.

People are like oceans,
each their own collection of
of currents and of waves,
thrashing and bashing
against wayward seas.

Some are intertwined,
and connected like straits,
others flow apart and alone,
their own self-contained sea,
a world within itself.

Some are calm rivers,
lazily flowing like the Mississippi,
others are rough and choppy,
bruising against the cliffs
and seabeds of the world.

Some are deep and dark,
with mysteries lurking in their depths,
like buried treasure or cursed ruins
others are more shallow waters,
their depths clear, clean, and pure.

No man is an island,
but we are oceans,
each with our own ships,
and waves, and currents,
and bays, and buoys that
shape and define our course.

Clouds up high in the skies
floating, flying far above us,
like stars for our watching eyes
to dissect and to discuss.

Whether puffy or wispy,
whether eggwhite or gloom-grey,
whether full or misty,
clouds always seem to stay.

Even with a clear sky blue,
there can be found a cloud.
If not one, then maybe two,
floating on high so proud.

What is up there so high,
waiting or perhaps watching
we humans do they spy?
What could be stalking?

Is there a man of the stars,
resting on his fluffy pillow,
a man who came from Mars,
with a beard of smoke-billow?

Or perhaps a race of ancients,
from a long-forgotten age,
who possess great patience,
waiting for a war to wage?

Or maybe so far beyond,
there rests a city of gold,
that wonders where we've gone
and awaits our return foretold.

These thoughts of mine,
do keep my mind thinking
as I enjoy the sun's shine.
and the clouds, like ships sinking.

Have you the gall to do it?
Have you the gall to end it?

You don't, you coward,
you wretch. You never had,
you never will. And if you wanna
prove me wrong, then just do it.

Make my day.

I am the Original,
the First One,
the Beginning,
and if I must, I
will be the End.

Long ago, in a sandy desert,
of time-past, I was born,
to a people that did
not want nor need me.
I was shunned for
what I could not control.
What was inherent in me.

I would have died
sickly and alone
were it not for that
man. That man who
took me in and told me
of the way of the world.

That strength and power
are what guide this earth.
The weak will die, as they should,
while the strong will thrive.
Survival of the Fittest
is the truth of the world.

I learned this most bluntly,
when a stronger tyrant, out of time,
came and slaughtered my
people for he knew what
I would one day become.

Looking back, I can only laugh,
for in his fear and panic,
his needless violence awoke
my true, peerless potential.

Yet, I was not complete
until I felt the sting of heart-ache.
It is as they say. Pressure
turns coals into diamonds,
and I was the finest of them all.

In my pain and fury,
I made that conqueror flee.
I became the new conqueror,
because I was stronger, and
the strongest will always thrive.

I lived for many centuries,
proving my power and
doing as I pleased. I was a God
to many, and to **** out the weak,
I pulled their strings and
and made them maim and ******.

But over the years eternal,
I came to see a truth.
My kind were inherently
stronger than mere humans.
My kind was the fittest,
and therefore, we deserved
to not just survive, but
to rule all over it all.

So I planned a grand plan
to get rid of humans,
so that my kind could reign
supreme. I had to wait
for others like me to emerge.

Centuries I slumbered,
biding my time and
growing ever-stronger
until the day my eyes
were forced ajar.

I sensed a trembling force,
of overwhelming energy,
and stupendous power.
With a grin, I knew
it was finally time to
begin my Apocalypse.

Blow backs left right,
flowing from the up-side
sphere of my down-facing
brain.

Cluttered pages of a book-mind,
the junk of thought-pages,
with doodles on the lined edges.
and the corners dog-eared.

Peering through the eyeglass
of the head, one finds a circus
of impulses, a parade of thought-beams
bouncing and pinging off the skull-wall.

Mindless and formless shapes,
of squares and circles, and
more strange formations begin
to come to a discombobulated life.

Shaped by stray desires,
and flaming envy-fires,
and raging dream-embers,
the circus is coming to town.

The clowns paint their faces,
the elephants don their dresses,
the trapezists prepare their rope,
the ringmasters ring their voice
the typewriters begin their dance.

The Parade of Impulses has commenced,
the ringing-pinging-tinging of the bells,
the clanging-banging-jangling of the drums,
the crashing-bashing-thrashing of the cymbals.

The Kingdom of Noise, of discordant sound,
and disjointed spasms proceeds, the
cats and rats and bats stepping out of tune,
the chairs, stairs, and the mares march
to the beat of a spastic, spastic thought-drum.

Gingerbread snaps skip the sweet fandango,
while tangerines and woodwinds play
their **** tunes and the dinosaurs of dixie
tap and sway from side to side.

Paperclips and staples sing Blue Velvet,
while the idol warbles with a Golden Flute,
and the bulldog grins widely and wildly,
playing his 8-bit accordion-tambourine.

Behold the procession of business-men
and cat-women as they are swept into
the noise-sounds, and the thought-images.
What draws them in? the feeling or the fire,
the lust or the raging desire?

The beat goes on, as does the noise,
the pitch rises on, as does the fervor,
soon the soundless static stacks,
buzzing-fuzzing-wuzzing slowly louder.

The marchers march, and the players play,
the steppers step, and the band bandies,
the parade parades, and the mind
snaps.

Talking to you is
like pulling out teeth.
Root by root making me
want to punch yours out.

I need a shot of gas
just to stand your face.
'Least I could laugh at
your ridiculous remarks.

You're deeper than the ocean,
you say, but I know the score.
More shallow than the lightest
puddle is far more accurate.

Why must you be so smug?
Why can't you just be nice?
Is it so hard to be humble?
Do you gotta be such a ****?

Maybe it's just something in you,
something in that brain that
makes you have to act superior,
but you won't get any pity for me.

A bully is a bully, and that's
you to a T. You're self-absorbed,
self-loving, and just plain selfish.
A guy like you won't make it far in life.

If you don't change your evil ways,
one day someone's going to put you
in your rightful place. So maybe
try a little kindness sometime, eh?

I'm so virtuous, it's practically a sin,
I'm pure of heart, better than all men.
I make Mother Theresa look like a Kuze,
I make Martin Luther look like Adolf ******
I'm so good, I might as well be King,
make 'em bow, make 'em kiss the ring.
But that's the thing about it, man,
I'm such a saint that I don't mind.
I made the angels fall before me in envy,
'Cause they jealous a mere mortal could be so more-than
Lucy himself had to bow his holy head
'cause he knew he weren't the most-loved.
Just look at me, man, you know I got it all,
I'm handsome and smart, and tall as tall.

I make good men look like murderers,
I make murderers look even worse than,
my light shines brighter than bright,
like a light lighter than light.
I make that saint, Peter, look so bad
he be more fit to judge who goes to hell.
Virgil and Dante alike would declare
I was the one true paradiso.
From my crown to my soles,
I'm built like a grand king, and this
earth be my gilded, golden throne.
Ever humble, though, I remain,
not one to doubt where I came from.
or what made me what I be.

I got a girl for every finger on my hand,
and y'all can best believe they know who the man.
Before you say I'm lusting, though, don't judge
I'm such a lover, I can't stick to one honey.
I don't beat 'em or hurt 'em or fuss 'em,
you know I don't yell 'em or cuss' em.
But let's be real, you know I be lovin'
them honies every day of the week.
They know they can't get no better,
cause I'm the greatest man they ever met.

Now some of them haters, they tell you
I got dat gluttony weighing me down,
but the hell do they know, it's not a crime
to enjoy a nice roasted turkey, downed with wine,
then capped with the finest chilled gelato,
along with caviar and baked alaska.
I won't lie to ya, I like to stuff my face,
but you know I always do it with grace.
I use the rarest silver, the flyest china.

And then I hear 'em say, oh man,
that guy is such a miser, oh so greedy,
but they just ain't true, I give to the needy.
Why, just last week, I gave 22 cents to a ***,
but not no more, cause I don't want to hold his hand,
dudes like him gotta stand on they own two feet.
And hey, I donated 5 dollars when the teller,
at the store asked me to, and felt like a saint.
How greedy can a guy like that really be,
even if he owns three benz, four boats, and a mountain goat?
Being wealthy ain't no crime, don't let 'em tell you
otherwise.
They just jealous cause they know I'm the
greatest man they ever gonna meet.

And don't you dare say, brother, that I'm lazy,
that I'm a sloth, cause that just ain't true.
Sure, I like to sit back, and relax, and think
about all those fat stacks I make back-to-back.
So what if I like to sleep in, when you fly like me,
time bows to you, not the other way around.
And hell, I go to work on time, and pay my bills,
and do what I gotta, even if I don't like it.
I get bored, I get listless, restless,
and wonder what the point of it all is,
but really, who among us doesn't?

When I think about those haters, it makes my
**** blood boil, but I ain't wrathful, or spiteful.
No, not one bit. If you want proof consider this.
When this idiot passed me in traffic, I was so
tempted to get a barbed wire bat and brain him,
but I didn't, cause I'm on that run, pacifist.
I'm like a monk, but more peaceful, if that were
possible. I make Gandhi look like Genghis.
Even nuns look at me, and think,
"That brother is one chill dude."

When I take that time to sit and meditate,
I often think about what others got that I ain't.
Like my friend, Charles, and his shinier benz,
it's red and newer, and somehow runs better.
When I think and I think, and I sit, and I
fester, I just want it so bad, that I want
to beat him down, and take it from him, cause
he don't deserve it anyway. A car like that
belongs to a king like me, not that drooling fool.
What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I never envy or
covet other's stuff, because I know it ain't right.
Cause, like I said, I'm the greatest man that ever lived.

Some say that pride comes before a fall,
but hey, Narcissus didn't fall off a cliff.
He turned into a flower, cause he was so ****
pretty. But compared to me, he might as well be
manure. Don't go saying I'mma be falling.
Cause my feet are secure, and my earth grounded.
I'm watching for every crack in the 'walk,
for every bump in that winding road.
I ain't ever gonna fall, ever going down.
I'mma keep on rising, till I'm shoulder-to-shoulder
with the angels on high, and don't say I can't,
cause all y'all know by now who you're talking to,
The greatest man that ever lived, and will ever live.

As he runs further away from his home,
he unravels like a ball of red yarn,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

As it is told in this sorrowful tome,
of the ones who forced him from his red barn,
as he runs further away from his home.

His ragged feet pummel the earthy loam,
with his shabby hat ripped and torn by thorn,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

All that his soul owns is one bamboo comb,
a possession from one who he does mourn,
as he runs further away from his home.

His pained heart beats a dreary monochrome,
still paining from they who gave him much scorn,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

Sighing, he retreats to the catacomb
a man whose fate he did not truly earn.
As he runs further away from his home,
with nothing but torn fabric does he roam.

Everything passes,
from kidney stones
to the worst heartache
for better or worse,
like a gift or curse,
everything passes.

So when you're down and out,
feeling like nobody's got you,
remember that it won't last,
those sweet times'll come back,
just because everything passes.

And you'll be back on the path true,
where you know you rightly belong,
like nothing had ever gone wrong,
like you were silly to even complain,
because everything passes.

Everything passes from taxes
to relaxation, from weight loss
to exhaustion, from parties to pain,
from loss to a gain, it all goes on,
and everything passes.

Even when you're feeling great,
and like you know you ought to,
life follows that great circle,
and you're bound to feel that pain,
but it's okay and you'll be on that train again,
because everything passes.

Life is a cycle of joy and anguish,
that's just the way the game is played,
The question remains, all the same,
will you let it play you, or are you
going to be the one holding them controls?

Everything passes, including all us,
but when life has made that call,
will you have savored every morsel,
like the finest dish in a five course meal?
Or will you have been someone who
let it all happen listlessly, while you
sat and worried restlessly?

One must make the most of their time here,
when they're young and thriving high,
when they can truly take things in their two hands,
so that they can say it loud, and say it proud,
when the movie theater closes for the last show,
everything passes, and from that, I made the most.

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.