Let your feet take your mind for a wander,
So your eyes can get a good gander,
At sights they may not have seen,
So when you return to your screen,
Your head will be filled with insight,
And your hands will be itching to write.

Why do they listen,

only to pretend to hear?

I'm looking for you on the crowded streets,
that are all full with the car's blinding lights,
and the wandering souls that aren't complete,
well, they just pass right through my sight.
The voices all turn to a slur, each word seeped in pure dread,
and my sight begins to blur, I need to get this all out of my head.

When the tears are fresher than air, and the hurt is always there,
I know there's a happy place, I just have no clue where.
When the words hit like a shot, the wounds won when I fought,
I'm giving it all but there's not much that I've got.

I'm searching for peace in an empty room,
the walls echo and bounce back my ragged breath,
and the blue skies still seem to hold some gloom,
as life will always have it's death.
"It's the release I crave," I always say to myself,
now it's time to be brave, and put fear on the shelf.

When the tears are fresher than air, and the hurt is always bare,
I've got a million problems, if you need some I can share.
When the words hit like a shot, the wounds bubble from the spot,
I'm going against everything that I was taught.

If she stays by me, I should be alright.
The sky's ablaze I see, and it shines so bright.
If she stays by me, I should be alright.
With the days passing, I always pray for night.

When the tears are fresher than air, and the hurt becomes a prayer,
My mother always told me that life is never fair.

The entire day I spoke to countless mouths
At night I fell short of tales
                                                  To write.
I wonder now what did I have to say in the morning
When no event ever took place?

(Clearly I wasn't even listening).

If this were a movie
The sky would be painted grey
I'd run outside, my bare feet splashing rainwater
I'd chase her, screaming for her to stop
I'd pull her into my arms
Tell her I'm sorry, my tears mixing with rainwater
We'd hug in the downpour
She would love me again
But this was no movie
And she is gone

It's a losing proposition
you won't come out ahead
if you try to play word games
with one whose life is in what's said

so take my advice and play it straight
no twisting or dodging about
say what you mean, mean what you say
we win that game each time without doubt

though it's not much of a paying gig
we take it seriously
words are at the heart of things
they're what can set us free

so don't play word games
with a poet, my friend
you'll come out behind
in the end.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”