I swear I hate computers
what happened to antique typewriters
Yah computers are helpful and all
but what happens if they crash
or the hard drive erases
what happens if your life depended on computers
and then your computer freaked out?
If you asked me, I would love to be sitting in an old fashioned
office, typing away at an antique royal!
oh well I'll live not like I can convince the world to agree with me...

the base drum beats
bump... bump... bump... bump... bump...
the base guitar plays one note
brung... brung... brung... brung... brung...
the rhythm guitar strums one chord
strum... strum... strum... strum... strum...
Then the lead guitarist rings out in epic
greatness, as the lights turn up
you see him ripping up the guitar with his fingers everywhere at once
playing a great solo
moving across the stage
curly hair all over
breathing hard.
the Singer starts his song
clear but unique
no other singer could sing like he
but it's not the reason I love AC/DC
it is because of the guitarist
ANGUS YOUNG!
a inspiration above many!

Gripping to nothing, nothing is there
My soul is pricked, pried at
My love is ripped beyond repair
I have already tried to sew it back

But I stand strong, I am sturdy
I hold on to the absent
My pain is hidden, ignored
For I am not unsubstantial

Leftover pieces are stolen
Searching for them is useless
Starting over takes too long
Decisions are not made

Tears fall down horror’s waterfall
And traitors betray themselves
Memories are no longer true
Lying among the hurt is hidden

With each last step
The silent breeze blew life back into me
I stand up
I stand strong

Because I am the owner of my soul
I am the persuader of my choices

The sun was just setting
on the empty tropical beach
a cool breeze brushed through the palm trees
the only trace of human
was a two pairs of footprints
in the soft sand
the owners are unknown
but the memories remain

I sat upon the soft detailed carpet
we rose into the air
out of the window
seeing the world
New York, Rome, Greece, Paris, London, Tibet, Beijing,
Budapest, Oslo, Munich, India, African plains, Jerusalem, West Bank, etc
What was the best is the people and the culture
how different each one is but yet wanting the same thing
riding the magic carpet made me think about how everyone
in the world
could work together
to make peace
but there is still those internal
disagreements
peace between enemies
hurts further

In real life I was my imagination
and the carpet was my dream
the future is my hope

You ask me what my favorite color is
you'd think it's a simple question
but it is like asking
what college you want to go to
when your only 13
But to answer your question
I have to say
every color is my favorite
There's colors out there that I haven't heard of
Colors that no one Knows
colors so random like "razzmatazz" or " sunset orange"
you get what I mean
so next time you ask what my favorite color is
remember how many colors there are
and that I don't answer those questions
what's your favorite color?

I sat down next to my little sister
and I opened up the Shel Silverstein book
I read out some of the poems
and laughed to a few of them
and sighed to others
it was the feeling of the poems

After writing so much poetry
I am able to understand it without thinking
but with feeling

But every time I laughed
or sighed
or even commented
my little sister would think VERY hard
and then say, "I don't understand"
At first I ignored it and just read on
but after awhile of thinking about how much she was thinking
I had a moment
I felt her confusion
and suddenly I understood
something that has been put into words so many times
yet I never understood it this deep
Although I know it is too deep for her age
she's only 7 how would she understand it
but it took her confusion
to clear mine

So finally I answered her
I said, " When you hear poetry, you can't think about, you've got to feel it. When you hear poetry, take it in by your soul not your mine. Don't think about it, be it, feel it, hold it in."

Now when I read poetry I can't say I get it, but I have to say I feel it, I know what the poet is getting across.