Before this story, to you, I tell.
I would ask that you listen well.
Mine is a tale that can surely stand,
from very beginning to very end.

My lover was pure, saintly, and true,
almost as if she could be seen through.
Dressed in holy whites, she glided,
and my wayward heart, she guided.

I had little to my status or name,
little of fame to entice her aim.
Yet, still she slithered by my side,
till no longer could it be denied.

I was hers and hers alone to take,
and so I went along for her sake.
Such a fate did not bother me,
for her love made us become we.

Before her, I felt like a scuttling ant,
something small, weak, and scant.
Through her, my heart made worn,
became something else: loveborn.

And so it went from day to night,
a union of souls beaming sweet light.
We lived, we laughed, we loved.
Our ardor was blessed from the sky above.

I, speaking for myself, was fit with glee,
and my mirth could fill the deepest sea.
But, in her, I began to notice doubt,
as if something in her was in a drought.

Her cheeks did not span like before,
her eyes did not gleam like the shore.
Her essence did not shine the sky,
her heart did not beam on high.

I then began to wonder and doubt,
what had caused her this bout.
Was I to blame for her behavior,
had I created my fallen savior?

I knew that I was weak: pathetic,
something to be mocked: genetic.
Was our love doomed: prophetic?
I thought and I thought: splenetic.

If I was so miserable after all,
I would give her cause to squall.
Let us cease the senseless play,
and close the curtain on today.

I met her gaze in our room,
the scene was set for her doom.
I smiled. Then the deed was done.
She was from this world gone.

And in that moment, I stopped.
Looking at her, my head dropped.
In that moment, I had to kneel,
noting she had never been more real.

I want you, and yet you turn away,
like night's embrace, and the passing of day.
When all I want is for you to stay.

Can't we be like this forever,
you and I, in hand together?
When we part, I am severed.

Is it true what they say
that love passes one by
like red roses in the sky?

Let this not be the end,
let us love like we are young,
and die like we are old.

Ever since I can remember,
these slugs been hounding me,
these wheelers, these dealers,
like drug dealers, they peddling
they lies to try and hypnotise
young minds like mines but you
gotta remember what they tell
you's real and what's really real
is two totally different reals.

Those maggots they try and sell you
on some pie in the sky, just another lie
another fantasy, another trap to
keep you and yours down in the gutters.

They tell you you ain't pretty enough or,
that you ain't smart enough, or you
ain't good enough as you are, and that
what you need is what they happen to have.
A bottle of pills to cure all your ills,
or is it just something to siphon your will?

You gotta believe me, man, or lady,
you can't trust those suits who try to buy
your happiness, your love, your self-esteem
like it was some kinda product to buy and sell,
like your worth is some kinda commodity, hell no.
Feel me when I say you're beautiful the way you are.

But those words won't mean a thing until you try
some introspection and realize it for yourself.
Can't nobody, not me, or the suits, tell you
how you're meant to feel, or meant to think.
The only happiness you'll ever find is from within,
and the only love you'll ever find is deep inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Gotta beware the ****** Machine,
the ****** Machine, quick and clean,
the ****** Machine, run you through,
the ****** Machine, rip you in two.

The ****** Machine is coming for you,
black coats, and black boots stamping in tune
in light of day and the dark of the moon.
The ****** Machine pounds its chest.

The ****** Machine blots the sky,
its oppressive cloud tainting the world,
always watching, always judging,
your faintest mistakes, always begrudging.

The ****** Machine is big, bad, and bold,
it has our minds and the masses under control
to fight, to resist is to wait and die.
The ****** Machine reigns supreme.

Drops of waters dripping down the drain,
leaky faucet keeps ringing in my brain.
Moldy walls, and moldy halls, a mirror
of the mold festering in my soul.

Laying down on this old, musty couch,
staring at a screen reflecting my expression.
I sip from this can, and sit and wonder,
when this low life lost its luster.

Like a rusty old bicycle missing a wheel,
I just keep riding in circles with no direction,
a plague of apathy uncured by introspection.
The hardest thing is just giving a ****.

The telephone rings and rings and rings,
but I keep on thinking and thinking and thinking,
and drinking and drinking and drinking.
I sit, I think, I wonder, and I drink.

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.

You can call me Elsa like I'm Frozen
cause you know I never let it go,
and I won't ever let you go,
whether or not you say no.

You know I hold more grudges
than white racist judges,
I'll be your biggest regret yet,
so much more than a threat.

And it's not like I want you,
I just don't want anyone to want you,
like a toy that I don't wanna share,
then I throw away elsewhere.

I hope you know you can't ignore me,
I want my face to be in your dream or
rather a nightmare so I can hear you scream.
By the time I'm done, you won't forget me.

And like a bad addiction, you won't quit,
and each day another step down the pit.
And don't deny, cause you know it's true,
you like the pain and the daily abuse.

You and me, we're meant to be,
for better or worse, well, better for me,
and worse for you, if we're being real,
like the fisher who hooks the reel.

Like a pet, you'll be under my thumb,
while everyone else plays dumb.
There's no escape or no release,
just you begging at my feet.

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.

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.

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.

God is perception,
But perception be NOT reality.

Your God, My God, His God, Their God,
All different in their own way.
The God of Kentucky is hardly the God of Malaysia.
This alone proves what I say.

Were God truly universal,
His worship would be no rehearsal.
With each culture getting it wrong
All would believe the same, everlong.

So this is the truth.
God is a state of mind.
He, and indeed, all deities,
Rest in the hearts of man.
Everything else is needless pieties.
Restricting, repressing, regressing, restraining
Our natural desires, the flaming pyres.

What you believe is well and good,
Does not change the way it is.
What is real, what is true,
Is what we know, what we sow.

Whatever one might explain with God,
The laws of our world describe quite nicely.
And if our Truth fulfills the duty.
What need we God for in our modern society?
Can not we take solace in our man-made beauty?

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.'

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.

Ever since I was young,
I dreamed a prince would come,
and take me away from my life
of boredom and weariness.

I always wanted someone perfect,
someone on a white steed, and a
kind heart who'd love me forever.
Yet, I never knew what forever was,
nor did I know what love really was.

And so I always found myself,
in a state of perpetual longing.

I thought it was the end of a novel,
the closing of every drama and play,
it wasn't a thing that you felt or were,
it was instead an event that happened
when you somehow earned it.

Now that I have grown and grown,
I find it impossible to find that goal.
No one I meet fits my bill.
Not handsome enough, not
strong enough, not gallant enough.

Not perfect enough for me.
They all have awful flaws,
not like the books I read at all.
They complain, they burp, they fight,
and not alone for my love.

It's so strange, and so bizarre.
I can't connect with anyone
who I know will take away me
from my dreadful life into a
world of pure imagination.

And so I find myself again
in a state of listlessly wanting.

Is it something wrong with me,
am I not pretty enough to win love?
The fair maidens in those books I've read,
and those films I've cried over are always
so lovely and well-dressed, from toe to head.

It just doesn't seem fair
that I should be so lost and lonely.
I want love too, and don't I deserve it?
I think and I ponder, and I think and I wonder,
and yet cannot come to one true answer.

And so I find myself again
in a state of restlessly pondering.

Would I know what to do with love,
if I did earn it somehow? I've
never had a lover all my own.
As far as I have read and studied,
all they do is kiss and declare their passion.

It certainly sounds nice, I admit,
but what comes after that, I wonder,
well, they get married, I assume,
but what comes next then, I ponder.
What would I do also comes to mind.

Perhaps that is the problem then.
Because it seems so easier to wait
and think about what could be,
and what would be to have love,
rather than going out and actually
finding someone you can truly love.

For so long, I have fantasized, and
let my mind fall into flights of fancy,
of horses and knights, and white
picket fences and all manner of whimsy
Without deciding what I truly wanted,
and who I truly wanted for me.

Actually meeting a person I could love
was too hard and too fraught with fright,
so I found reasons to hide behind lies,
and set my standards impossibly high,
so no person would ever make me happy,
and I would never have to try hard
and risk the fear of falling apart.

I put the very thought of falling
in love onto some holy pedestal,
let it fester as some high ideal,
without ever stopping to consider,
what love in of itself actually means.

As I continue to speculate,
I realize I don't know that answer.
But now that I do know what
was preventing me from climbing
that summit before, I can now
go and find out for myself, and myself alone
the answer to that one immutable truth.

No more will I find myself
in a state of perpetual longing.

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.

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?

Raindrops drip down,
staining the grimy ground wet.
Again reminded.

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.

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

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.

It's a sheepy love,
making me go 'baa',
as I look on you in awe.
The way you talk,
I can't help but flock to ya..

Your voice is more than a bleat,
it makes me feel complete,
knowing you and I are real.
They can call us sheeple,
but I never cared about them,
so let's meet at the steeple.

It's mad to me to think I
ever doubted or distrusted you.
I must have been like a lost lamb
or a stray sheep searching
when all I ever really wanted
was just to have you, oh ewe.

But what can I say, really,
sheep aren't smarties,
but we make good sweaters,
so won't you hold me close,
like I was your pillow?

Let's have a sheepy love,
the sweetest love of them all.

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.

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

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 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.

I'm a loser.
That much is true.
I'm a loser.
At all I do.

Throughout the many years,
And through my many tears,
I've found it to be true.
I'm a fool, through and through.

Bitter sadness is my chum.
My poor heart is like stained glass.
Fragile and weak, but alas,
I'm a loser, and I'm ****.

I am ugly, disgusting to the core.
My face revolts and repels, yet cries for more.
To all my friends, I am sure they abhor.
In the end, it only goes to show that

I'm a loser, akin to a mere gnat.
You could slap me, and I wouldn't slap back.
I had it coming, of that I am sure,
Because I'm a loser, and nothing more.

I have longed for love, and affection aplenty.
Yet all I have had is rejections a many.
Of all the women whom I ever came to know,
None alone would think of me as their love, their beau.

My shoulders narrow, my wrists small, my posture slump,
Could it be held against them to give me the bump?
In the end, I can say I deserved it all for
I'm a loser, and frankly, I'm also a bore.

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.

Step to me, o' child of sun.
Come along, o' mother moon.
Join us all, o' father time.
To a place where all laws stop.

Space, Time, Order, Chaos.
Endlessly shifting, altered eternal.
Dimensions shatter, reality falls.
Forces bubble, gravity smashed.
Crackling quarks, equal
Universal heart attack.

Past the end of forever, and
Through the border of nevermore.
To see the secret of the universe,
Follow me to the edge of infinity.

Life, Death, Love, Hate.
Man's quest, forever unanswered.
Truth and lies, dishonest alibis.
Questioning reason, senses falter.
Beyond understanding, lies true reality.
Cthulhu rules, Man madly dies.

Turn through time eternal.
Rush past the door of eternity.
To see the secret of the universe,
You must follow to the edge of infinity.

At my door, he stands.
At my bed, he lands.
At my soul, he stabs.
At my heart, he grabs.

My last breath, he laughs.

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.

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?

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.

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!

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.

I am the happy bunny.
I hop, and when I hop,
I laugh, and I squeak.
Squeak, Squeak, Squeak, I go!
My little bunny nose
Squinches to and fro.

I am the happy bunny.
I hop, and when I hop,
I am carefree, happy, and full of glee,
When I go hopping on my little tree!
Hop, Hop, Hop, I go! My little bunny legs
Leap to and fro.

I am the happy bunny.
I hop, and when I hop,
I see my master, as he looks at my cage
He smiles, and laughs when I wiggle my ears!
Wiggle, Wiggle, Wiggle, I go! My little bunny ears
Wriggle to and fro.

I love him, and he loves me, and he
Makes me the happiest bunny I could be.

One cannot underestimate the importance of conviction.

This is a creed to which I always have found truth,
it guides me along my chosen path, quite nicely.
Why is it so true, you may ask? The answer is simple.
Conviction is the salesman of deception.

When you have conviction in the words you say,
the majority of people will believe your every way.
You can sell steaks to vegetarians, milk to vegans,
welfare to conservatives, and to conservationists, fracking.

More often than not, people do not, in truth, care
about things like honesty and nobility, and other 'tys.
They desire the things they want to hear, the comfort
of a beautiful, loving lie whispered in their ear.

If you would, perchance, inquire an example,
consider a family I met on a trip in Iowa.
Through simple conviction of my words,
I convinced them I needed a brain transplant.

Little did their feeble minds make the connection,
a transplant of sorts did indeed occur then.
But not from brain to brain was this operation,
it was from their weighty wallet to mine.

Believe you me, conviction is the key to all.
So, if you wish to make the skies rain for you
practice your speech, bellow your voice,
gesticulate your motions, mind your expressions.

This last tip, of this is most import, is to believe.
Believe in the words you know to be false,
as if they were the last words your mother ever said,
and the common, simple man will you make believe.

Now, you perhaps may be questioning my creed,
whether or not it is truly 'right' to make pockets bleed.
Dispose your silly questions of morality petty,
but if it comforts your bleeding heart, then consider this.

As I said, people do not want to hear the truth.
It is a poison to the ears, and a toxin to the heart,
it can pain one ceaselessly with grief ever pouring
like some sort of grim faucet of running tears.

The truth stings worst, and people like ourselves,
we are the doctors of deceptions who prescribe
placebos that comfort and heal those emotional wounds.
Like a comforting static, we tell them what they want to hear.

Luckily for men such as myself, the line between telling
and selling is thinner than ice. All it takes is some
faint hint of manipulation, along with a good dose
of conviction, and the mark is had, the sale is made.

So when you find yourself feeling somehow guilty,
just remember that what we provide is a noble service.
And if you, still, feel the pangs of shame stabbing you,
just stop and check your pocket stabbing you with wealth.

There is but one warning I would be most remiss,
if I were to not dispense, and you're the fool, if you miss.
There exists a certain breed of people who will see
through your pretty words and sweet deception.

They are the minority of those who seek Truth,
that fleeting fool, and will try to debunk you through.
When placed as equals, Truth will always defeat Lie,
but this, do not fear, for we possess a certain weapon.

We possess a strength in numbers, that mob mentality.
If a job well you've done, then you should have a flock
to fight their logic with loudness, to strike their honesty with hate,
to stab their reason with rakes, to slice their knowing with noise.

If all goes according to the stated plan of attack,
then you should not have to fight or argue at all,
to dismiss those pesky gnats of truth who would
try and illumine our vile fraudulence clear.

And so, we are free to continue leading and deceiving,
the very ones who for us they fight at our side.
It is an agreeable arrangement we have found,
and one that you will soon enough warm up to.

I know this will be a phrase I have repeated,
but it is a most mighty maxim that bears to be said.
Never underestimate the importance of conviction,
when you seeks to practice the art of deception.

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.

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.

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?

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.

You were the one I thought I loved,
the one who I thought would be mine,
to have and to love and to kiss and to hug,
and to hold and to own and to take.

But you weren't mine to own or to control,
or the object of my diseased affections.
You were your own person, with your own wants,
your own desires, and your own feelings
that didn't involve me or my dreams, and that's okay.

You owed me nothing, yet I made you feel you did,
we were friends at one time, and maybe we could
have been something more had I been aware.
But I was young and foolish and didn't know what
it meant to truly love somebody.

I thought I loved you, but I didn't.
I cared for you and longed for you,
and wanted to be with you, but
I didn't truly love you. I didn't consider
you or what you wanted, and just
tried to make you feel my way.

I let my feelings became dark and
obsessive and get the better of me, and
you were the one who suffered, not me.
It wasn't right of me, and I apologize.
I haven't seen you in many years,
and I wonder if I will ever get a chance,
to properly express my sorrow for
the way I acted and the way I treated you.

If our paths ever do cross once more,
I wish we'll be able to on terms friendly,
talk of our pasts and of our futures,
but if you're not interested, I don't blame you.

I didn't by good do you,
so why would you, the same, do?

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.

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.

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.

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.

The problem with faith, scratch that,
MY problem with faith, I guess I'd say,
it's the attitude, the manner of the people
who have it. Now, let me preface this,
I don't speak to all people of faith, cause
I know some ain't this way, but I know
people, and am friends with those who are.
And that is who I speak to.

Now I don't mind the faithful who
don't shout it out loud, or wave it
like a flag-bearer. Those who believe,
those who dream, and keep to themselves,
that's a faith that I can respect, won't shelf.
Even if it's not for me, I won't tell them
that they wrong for what they think.
Yet, there are others who trouble me so.

Certain people of faith, they wear it like
a sticker, or a badge of honor, and sure,
maybe it's something to be proud of,
something to take joy or glee in,
but whether they know it or don't,
it carries an implication I can't ignore.

Their faith is a way of lording over you,
a way they can say, "I'm better than you".
Even with the best of intentions they may have,
a desire to make you as good as they feel,
it's still just a wall that divides me and them.

Or, rather, a fence that they can sit on,
and still be above me, feeling so self-superior.
It leaves me feeling weak and depressed,
to feel like my friends think they're so much better,
just because they believe in a higher power
in something above that I just don't share.

They always want to try and preach to me,
try and convert me, like I'm just a check
to be marked, a mark to be had, I draw
that line in the sand. I don't want to hear
it, even if they mean well, but still, they continue.
And so I find myself forced to yell, and like that,
I'm the bad guy who needs to apologize
instead of the victim who had been forced upon.

Perhaps they can't really be blamed
for being this way, for thinking this way.
As far as they see it, they just sharing the message,
spreading gospel for the betterment of all.
They want me, and people like me, to join 'em above,
to live that life immortal, life immemorial .

But I can't buy, just because they selling,
I can't take what they be giving because
it don't work for me, it don't jive with me.
It's not a system I can comply with, beliefs
that I can fly with. I respect the faithful,
and the good that it lets them do, but
I don't respect the way they shove
it down my throat like a bad pill.

It's something too tough to swallow
even with a glass of water to wash it down,
it makes me angry and want to shout.
Maybe that's why I get so defensive when
I feel like I'm being preached to.
Because deep down, it feels like an excuse to
be talked down to, and I just have to take it,
or else I'm heinous, speaking heresy, blasphemy,
or just being plain disrespectful to them.

Now, faith folk, don't get up in arms,
don't raise your red cups up in anger.

Don't take this as a condemnation,
or some kind of vilification,
when really it's just conjugation,
or, rather, venting my frustration.