You were my starlight,
like a shining sirius,
illumining my empty voids,
and filling me with light.

You gave me form,
you gave me shape,
you made me more
than just dark matter.
You made me matter.

You were so bright,
beaming with light,
like Castor to Pollux,
I could see you shine
from the depths of space

All those years we had,
all those laughs we made,
all those suns we watched
cool and slowly fade away.

I never thought that
it could happen to you,
never thought you
would leave me,
like a supernova.
One day here,
and the next, gone.

So I am left alone,
left in my darkness,
like a supermassive
black hole.

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.

I'm a free man,
not your little toy.
I won't do your
stupid dance,
not any more.

They want to buy
and sell me by
the pound, but
my body's not
for sale.

I'm more than
just meat and
bones, I've a mind
and a soul, you
can't control.

You won't put
a tag on me,
or brand me as
product on
display.

I am free to be,
all that was meant
for me, with no fear
of falling apart,
keeping me down.

Hello?

Is anyone there?

I don't guess there would be.
I've asked that 100 times,
and 100 times silence answered.

I landed on this rock...
I can't say how long now.
Rations are holding up,
but I long for something more.

I long to hear a voice
someone other than me
that speaks back when
I say the words 'hello'.

I don't need a conversationalist!
Just another human being
to listen to me. Just so
I know that I actually exist.

Lately I've been wondering
that fact. I think this solitude
is starting to eat at me.
Do I know I am real?

Won't somebody say something?
Anything at all. I'm tired of
living in an echo chamber,
my only response being me.

Where is everyone? Why won't
they say something? Are they
playing some kind of prank?
Come out, wherever you're hiding!

Just say that you hear me.
Say that you understand me.
I need someone to listen
and say that they care.

Ha. Some joke this is.

I'll keep on looking then
for that someone who can
hear me. They must be out
there on this hunk of rock.

Somewhere.

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 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 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.

Sharply dressed in their finest duds,
The night-life awaits these young studs.
As they walk the streets of thunder,
Prepared to tear this town 'sunder.

Clint, Flint, and the top-hatted Gent,
The trio terrific struts in Kent's
Ordering their usual brew,
An air of trouble starts to stew.

Ed, Fred, and Mr. Lead-Head Ted
Decked out in ratty, torn thread,
Decide to make their presence known.
Clint, shaking his head, can just groan

Ted grunts to the bartender, "Three!"
Fred glares hard, expecting no fee.
Ed stares blankly, always quite slow.
The barkeep stammers out a no.

The brute's eyes widen, surprise clear.
In a second, his features sneer.
He barks out his demands once more.
The fool stands his ground, finger to door.

The thugs rise from their seats, laughing.
They smirk and they scoff, still clapping.
"Oh, really" they say, all with grins.
They circle like sharks, suits like fins.

Before things can get any worse,
And 'fore they have to call a nurse,
Clint, Flint, and the top-hatted Gent
Decide to make then their ascent.

The trios all **** heads, jawing.
The bar senses a brawl gnawing.
All it takes is just one thrown fist,
One clenched fist to make a face kissed

Hours pass, and much blood does spill.
The trio fights, through force of will.
Soon enough a winner is called,
And Fred, Ed, and Ted lay out sprawled.

The crowd claps and cheers for the three,
Clint, Flint, and the Gent, all marquee.
The barkeep smiles, handing their bill.
They groan, before drinking their fill.

When I was a small boy,
I felt sadness, lacked joy.
Life led me oft astray
Without direction, I
Was led off and away.

'Til one day, I came to
Find a strange place, full of
Greenery, with which view
Did I examine deep
My heart swooned, my mind 'thused
All was so full of love

The red roses, in bloom eternal
The tulips, bright and universal
The grand grass, viridian shining.
All the while, my heart came to pining.
Such beauty on Earth has yet repeat'd

Longer I stayed,  and more blithe
Did my longing heart become.
Soon, I gave in, those feelings
Did overrun my fool mind.

As I sang sweet hymns,
And drank the good wine
That tasted so fine.
I laughed, and I pranced,
I smiled and I danced
In The Garden of Love

Life was good, and my soul did bloom
With the warmth of my Garden of Love.
Through the years, many visits were made,
And much joy had, and real love was found
I found a world, where no dark did loom.

'Till one day, many years later.
I trekked the path above
to my wondrous Garden of Love.
The place that did to me cater.

But when, at last, I arrived
My eyes were shocked to see
An awful sight, most evilly contrived.
There was nothing, not at all!
At once, all joy I had ceased to be.
I screamed, but none answered my call.

The Garden of Love was empty.
No roses, no tulips in assembly.
No lovely bushes or shrubbery
Were there to guide or guard.
I was alone, my soul scarred.

Hours long did I stand in wonder,
Many thoughts my mind did ponder.
Where had my grand Garden gone
With its warmth and its undying love?
Why had it left me to suffer on and on?

Eventually, my mind stopped its wonder.
The truth grew clear, my heart renewed.
The Garden of Love never was,
And will never be. All that I thought
Was there, was but a mirage.
A facade my soul furthered
To give my mind a source of comfort.

Though I cried and cried at
This disheartening revelation.
When my tears ceased, the truth was clear
With time, I would grow for the better.

There was a Garden of Love, nobler within,
That would guide me to a new life, happier still!

Anger is power,
and don't let them
tell you otherwise.

Anger is action,
allowing you to
to advance onward.

Anger is change,
the force that
moves the world.

Anger is effective,
as long as you
don't let it control.

Anger is a pill,
helpful in doses,
yet easily abused.

Anger is pain,
when it lashes out
recklessly and wild

Anger is natural
and not to be feared,
when you take the wheel.

I am the sad child.
I cry and when I cry,
No tears fall.
Cry, Cry, Cry, I go.
My sad, little eyes
cry and cry.

I am the sad child.
I smile, and when I smile...
I can't smile.
Smile, Smile, Smile, I try.
But all I can manage is
A pathetic cry.

I am the sad child.
I laugh, and when I laugh,
It is hollow.
Hoh, Hoh, Hoh, I go.
I am cold, and hollow,
and empty inside.

I am the sad child,
I wonder, and when I wonder.
This is what I wonder.

Why can't I be the happy bunny?
Others are happy, yet I am not.
Must this loneliness forever be my lot?
On the surface, I appear to be sunny
But I am nothing, not even a happy bunny.

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.

Oswald Oddfellow was an odd fellow,
Building bridges, surely a strong fellow.
Greeting his boss, truly a kind fellow
To all his friends, he was a fine fellow.

Perhaps not sharp of wit was he,
Nor mighty mentally was he
Flights of fancy were not his forte
On tests of mind, he would fall short

But if you ever sought a mate,
This odd Oddfellow was just great.

In life, though, all is not it seems.
What we wish to be in our dreams
Will not always match what is real.
The strife of Longfellow's hard life
Was taken out on his poor wife.
His child, his pride and joy alone,
Was spared not the wrath of his stone.

Until one day, he, his poor wife and lost son
Were found hanging, their lives surely outrun.
On seeing the fate of their Oddfellow,
All declared, 'He was quite an odd fellow.'

Dear god,
Your pain, it burns
Your scorn, it tears
Your hate, it rips

And yet they call it
Your LOVE.

Dear god,
Answer me this.
Would a true god slaughter
Children just to make a point?
I've seen your 'love', and it's just
HATE dressed up in the brightest blues,
The boldest reds, the finest greens, the sunniest yellows.
I'm not fooled, I see your heart, a dark BLACK!

Dear god,
This is my address to you, old friend.
No longer do we need you, this is the end.
There is true knowledge, a flame of light
Burning with reason and logic, a fire bright!
We call it science, but you can call it your deathbed.
Your rule by fear reign will soon be overcome.
A rule of peace and love will be what we won.

Dear god,
I hope you are ready.
Be not proud, god, for today,
Thou shalt die!

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.

Could we call it love?
We had never even met
It could never be

When the sky was opened,
and you appeared,
I felt a sudden fear.

A certain realization,
a punch to the heart.
I felt the fire rising.

I saw that you were alive,
and something higher still,
while I was still here.

I wondered what it was,
grounding me down,
and you so above.

Would I be stuck here
forever alone am I,
while you stood above?

Fear turned to anger,
and anger to hate,
and here I am today.

Waiting, watching, wondering,
when next the sky will part,
and I can make my move.

I will forget you not,
for you are what
breathed into me
a life alight anew.

You took me in,
and helped me up,
when I was falling
down, down, down.

You showed me what
it meant to be alive again,
to feel my heart-drum beat,
and to believe again.

I loved you then,
and I think I still do.
But I understood
your heart's reluctance,
and still do now.

I never considered
you had darkness in you
things that held you back,
and pushed you down.

You seemed like angel-light,
something sent from above,
meant to be my sun,
but you were just human.

Just a flesh-made person,
in ways just like me.
I never saw that then,
but now, it makes me
feel for you even more.

So I'll wait till you're
ready to hope again,
ready to believe in me,
the way I believe in you,
the way you made me believe
in myself.

And if you won't be ready ever,
then that's okay too.
For I will never forgot
what for me, did you.

Sometimes, it
feels like we
are worlds
apart.

Like from Mercury
to Neptune, we
just can't seem
to agree on anything

Like we just are
on different axes,
on different planets,
in different galaxies.

It's frustrating me
to no end, to know
we can't connect.

You always have
something smart to say,
and then I jab back,
and here we are,
fighting again.

What keeps us apart
like ships sailing
in opposite directions?
I know we can find
it in us to make things work.

If you feed the fire with coal,
I'll man this captain's wheel,
and my resolve I will steel.
We will conquer this stormy sea.

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

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.

I walked through the forest of lies,
on my own, barefoot, and bare-skin,
like I didn't know what was where and when.
Picking up things I didn't understand,
like truffles of gold or relics in the sands.
I threw them away, I tossed them aside,
like they didn't belong to me beside.

Searching for a place that I could stand,
I walked for an age through every land,
through a river of deceit, and a wood of worry,
trying to find something that had been buried,
deep inside the treasure map of me,
but no matter I looked, I couldn't find the key.

So I packed up my things and I walked on,
like a wayward vagabond you made gone.
With each passing turn and changing season,
my back would ache and my stomach would shake,
so I knew the clock was getting ready to strike,
and I didn't need to be told to take a hike.

Something about free feels so alluring,
having no cares sounds so tempting,
but when you don't have a thing to stand for,
you find yourself searching evermore.

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.

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.

It's like I'm in a cage, and
you've locked the door, and
swallowed the key whole, and
now you're laughing all the way.

For so long, you've kept me down,
not let me shine like the diamond I am.
Afraid of feeling inferior, insecure, you
chose to bring me to your level instead.

You took your wrecking ball and
tore my gilded mansion down, and
burned the ashes of my soul away, and
built your rusty, rotten cage on top.

Pathetically, pitifully, you tried to
make me and shape me like your
own piece of designer clay, something
made in your own flawed effigy.

I played along for a while, I'll admit,
but I'm done drinking your pity, and
letting you play me like a game.
Today, I plant my own flag in the ground.

The air is chilly,
the wild wind blows wistfully,
wondering where you went.

There was once a man
Who guided us all.
His name was Wise Dan.
We heeded his call.

Kindness was his tool,
But he was no fool.
At heart, he was shrewd.
But never was he rude.

His mind was so sharp
His wit, it could stab.
But much like a harp,
Could any soul he'd grab.

But for all his worth,
And his hearty mirth.
Of chinks, there was one
That would make him done.

Oh, how he would boast.
"Heaven itself will
Be made, to us, toast."
His will was our will.

His virtue was true,
And as if on cue
We would follow him
No matter his whim.

Our love, it was his.
He was like our king,
He could never miss.
The world was his ring.

But it was for naught,
He would soon be caught.
One day, he would boast
"If you are the host,

Of it all, then prove!
Prove your truth, o' Lord!
Show us, I behoove!
Give me cause to hoard!"

At once, lightning struck.
The bolt it did pluck
Our Wise Dan from Earth.
Our souls felt the dearth.

What Lord would do that,
To a good fellow?
No tip of the hat,
For one so mellow.

Today, still I wonder.
My mind does ponder.
But still do I love.
Wise Dan, that poor dove.

His heart was true pure,
And his love was all.
He would be the cure
Had God not the gall.

Oceans below us,
planets spanning above us
We are very small

The world is like a dancing marionette,
constantly spinning and swaying on a dime,
its movements amazing and hypnotizing,
and no one stops and sees the strings.

So they say it's all randomness and chaos,
some sort of wild, cosmic dice toss
with no sense of order and morality,
and no one to say what is wrong or right.

But the world runs on infinitesimal strings,
slowly shaking and shifting with each silent motion,
another day is decided or a drink is imbibed
each vibration choosing a nation's fate.

From the universal big beginning,
to what one had to eat for breakfast,
it all comes down to silly, simple strings,
that decide for us, all and everything.

The world is blue,
and so are you.
I spent years tangled up in you,
but now I’m done, with all of you.

The world is blue,
and I am blue,
and you are blue,
and I am through.

My heart was blue
caught up in you.
I’ve been tying myself in two
ever since I first spotted you.

My heart is blue
and I am blue
and all is blue
but so are you.

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.

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.

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.

Once, I had dreams
Of what could be
Of you, of me.

Could we be?
Would we be?
Should we EVEN be?

Questions pondered,
Wonders wondered,
Of love and romance,
Our bodies, in a dance.

You, my dear rose.
I, your sweet peach.
Gay could we be.
You and I, simply carefree.

But dreams fade like the end of day,
Left me to deal with my heart gray.
My true love, you did not desire.
My passions burned, like white hot fire.

They overwhelmed you.
I do not blame you.
I still cherish you.

My love is still yours.

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.

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?

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.

Alexandria, my darling,
won't you be my sunshine starling?
Won't you dance with me in the light,
and kiss me sweetly in the night?

Tell me you'll be my sweetest love,
and send my heart up stars above.
I know it's soon, and we are young,
and that it might not be true love.

But what I feel, I know is real,
and no more can this I conceal.
I care for you, I long for you,
my spirits soar when you pass through.

I say dumb things to see you smile,
I watch in awe as you ooze style.
Your fae charms have bewitched me so,
oh, how I wish, you'd be my beau.

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.

What I'd give to feel
something human or real,
like a lover's kiss, or
a spring's summer shine.
To feel the breeze on my
face or a warm embrace
would be greater than any
show of strength or fleet of foot

But I can't feel a thing,
my skin is like a wall,
keeping me from feeling
bullets as well as love.
Heat, cold, snow or rain,
it's all foreign to me.

All I can feel, deep down,
is the pain inside, cringing
and scrounging in my body,
wounds from a battle I can't
ever forget, or ever throw away.

All the power in this world,
that can shield me from outer harm,
or external damage like bullets or bombs
can't fix the twisted organs
or torn, bleeding muscles
that always throb and burn
with blistering, ceaseless pain.

It's a pain I can't dismiss or deny,
but I'd do it again in a minute,
for that's what a hero does,
fighting for good, ignoring the pain.

What would I be if I gave up,
just because I ached every time
I woke up or turned my neck?
Just a cowardly, craven chicken.

I'm a hero, for better or worse,
and though it may be my curse,
it's a burden I'll gladly bear,
so that the world can live free.

It's hard to love,
hard to trust,
hard to open up,
hard to stay true.

To love is to say, "I give of myself fully",
the good and the bad, the mad and the sad,
the peaks and cliffs, and the valleys and nadirs,
all of that, and more. It says, "I trust you,
and believe you can take it all without judging".

It's like writing down all of you into a book,
and giving it to someone for them to read.
It's not something you would give to anyone,
so imagine that as the gift of your love.

It's opening yourself to pain and rejection,
and wishing and hoping that you won't be let
down, even when it's happened again and again.
It takes more courage than the bravest knight,
to confess your feelings to someone you love.

It's easier to just keep your feelings sealed,
never to tell your honest heart's message,
for fear of feeling failure yet again.
Or easier still to harden your heart's armor,
so that you can never love and never be hurt.

But, please, don't. To love and to be loved
is the most wonderful feeling in all the world,
this I can say to be true. If ever you find,
a lover you love true, then please confess.
Let them know, and don't waste time worrying,
or else they will find someone else who wasn't fearful.

Such was my fate, and so I stay here, sorrowful.
A knight of resignation who couldn't court his princess.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

If Life is truth, and never a dream,
yet dreams are a part of life,
then dreams are a true illusion.

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.

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.

The sky is setting,
red-orange hues color all.
And I am at peace