Selfish little savior,
Cares too much for them,
Selfish little savior,
Who keeps it locked within.

Selfish little savior,
Who takes on all their woes,
Selfish little savior,
Or so the record shows.

Selfish little savior,
Who makes himself feel good,
Selfish little savior,
Who never understood.

Selfish little savior,
Who writes these empty words,
Selfish little savior,
In hopes of finding worth.

Selfish little savior,
Who always sits alone,
Selfish little savior,
Taking for his own.

Selfish little savior,
Finds meaning in the pain,
Selfish little savior,
Plays his little game.

Selfish little savior,
Who knows of little else,
Selfish little savior,
Helps others for himself.

When boredom strikes a quiet man,
He's left to sit and ponder,
On curious mysteries,
Small and grand,
Of life and endless wander.

The smallest step first taken young,
Has led him now to this,
Few memories left,
They all have run,
And now are sorely missed.

He ponders silent the quiet nights,
He spent so freely doing nothing,
Recalling then,
With small delight,
How often he'd been bluffing.

Saying things akin to lies like,
"Soon I'll speak my mind,
I'll leave this place,
And cut all ties,
I'll leave it all behind."

Yet in his mind,
He knew the truth,
Buried far beneath,
He made the lies for simple use,
To keep him on his feet.

For when boredom strikes a quiet man,
He's left alone with thoughts,
Of endless time,
Which life demands,
And how quickly time is lost.

He thinks of things,
Like yesterday,
And how happy he was when,
To ease the fear and pain away,
Of facing there and then.

And soon he finds all time is up,
As marked by shades of grey,
He ponders then,
Too late it seems,
Of what to do today.

From twisting, gnawing, wrenching pain,
The doctors promised him refrain,
And from their view where patient lied,
No one knew of the metal grind.

Until he woke that dreadful day,
And in his bedroom where he lay,
He felt his tendons begin to cry,
Here comes the hell of the metal grind.

From root of bone there promised pain,
The likes not known to him again,
From each heartbeat felt before the slide,
Here comes the hell of the metal grind.

His blessing then turned into curse,
As pain to him was well-rehearsed,
So he sat awake the entire time,
To feel the hell of the metal grind.

He never knew when it would come,
And always thought that it was done,
After every stab into his side,
He feared the hell of the metal grind.

And when the cure for this was found,
The doctors surely did resound,
“Your tolerance for pain is very high!
Most would feint from the metal grind.”

And laughter rang out from their breath,
Though none from him for none was left,
And if he feels invincible for a time,
He recalls the hell of the metal grind.

To talk of gentle love and me,
Seems something of an oddity.
Yet to speak of angels as muses sing,
Used to come so naturally.

A somber sonnet of the soul,
Would ease the pain of heartache's toll.
And bring with it some great delight,
Yet now that gift has taken flight.

I cannot find the words once more,
All left behind on battered shores,
Of love and loss and life now gone,
I've lost the strength to carry on.

No words shall leave this shaking hand,
Of light and hope and love once grand.
And soon shall I then fade from view,
As my words have after you.

A broken angel on borrowed wings,
To teach of love and what it brings,
To show there beauty at its best,
And lay a wild heart to rest.

To teach of pain then born of passion,
And mark the soul in subtle fashion,
To linger there in memory,
Forever bathed in agony.

Take this then, my parting gift,
A simple thing which I will miss.
My pen and heart belong to you,
Goodbye my love and gentle muse.

If my innocence had a name, how would it be spelled? Crooked with C's or crossed with X's, maybe straight-laced with L's, sometimes bent at the ends?

If my innocence had a name, what would it be? Simple like Adam, or sweet like Eve? Would it mirror mine, or choose to be free?

If my innocence had a name, would I bother to remember? Or surrender my thoughts to the remedy of amnesia, that seeks to soothe me in times of need?

If my innocence had a name, would I even want to know? So time could choose when it would go and leave me here alone, with nothing but a memory of who my innocence used to be?

If my innocence had a name, I've forgotten how to say it. Laid to waste in this mind of mine, that hates to hold on, to the good times.

We dig through our old memories, to see what we can save, in hopes of finding remedies, to get us through our daze.

Our days of dragging moments, and things we do let slip, we dig to find atonement, for things we can't admit.

Things like seconds wasted, never doing what we should, we dig to find ourselves, never doing any good.

But through all our years of digging, through all the years we've lost, we've run the risk of rigging, so we always pay the cost.

This gamble is a risky one, yet many do still play, in hopes of finding time of old, we gamble time away.

To lose is to win, yet still we feel the pain, and still we play again, ever losing what we gain.

And so I tell you now, don't fall into this game, many have lost before you, and you will do the same.

From the stars above she plays her games,
On withering wings with a plastic smile.
She speaks of love like a gentle rose,
Finding purchase in any other name.

Why is it then that I give her chase,
This slithering snake in a garden of roses?
She offers poison in a land untouched,
And still I follow in loving state.

Like the vibrant sun she offers light,
With reckless radiance she speaks the truth.
She is the one to play at peace,
In what was already paradise.

And while we’re on the subject,
I’m sorry in advance,
That you ever had to hear this,
For giving it a chance.

But I’m sorry is what I say,
When I can’t say everything,
It’s the lie I use to paint over the truth,
With a better story.

It’s the half-truth of apologies,
Ringing hollow In reality,
You see I’m sorry is my defense,
It’s the difference between shy and confident.

I’m sorry is everything I meant,
That went unheard,
The words that couldn’t escape,
The critical mass of anxiety.

I’m sorry means listening,
To the words I didn’t say,
It’s my apology to you,
For me feeling that way.

But most of all,
I’m sorry is every opportunity missed,
Every time I wish I had the courage,
To speak a little more,
I’m sorry makes it out,
Before I even had a chance.

If I’m being honest; I say that a lot. Maybe it’s because I can’t tell the real from the not. I can’t tell the difference between my thoughts and yours, but if I’m being honest; I’ve said that before.

I’ve said it all though; I’ve said hello and goodbye. I’ve seen good angels fall from the sky, I’ve seen a grown man threaten to die on a whim, from years of neglect because he said; nobody loved him.

I’ve seen a good friend, stay just to go. He turned to say “Sorry” met with “I know.” And with a sad joyous sigh, he walked out the door, saying goodbye; but I’ve heard that before.

I’ve heard all the sayings, the
“I love you’s”, “I do’s”,
followed by years of domestic disputes. I’ve heard that I’m nothing, I’ve felt like I’m less, and I’m sure that sometimes, I seem like a mess.

But I’ve seen from this life, all that there is. A small kind of greyscale, of hate and of bliss. I’ve seen of this place, all that I can, And if I’m being honest; I’ll see it again.

But before I do that I have to sort out, exactly the facts, from maybe the doubt, and stop saying the words like I’m afraid to be hurt. but if I’m being honest; I’m afraid it won’t work.

I’m afraid I’ll be stuck just trapped in my head, reluctantly writing the things that I’ve said. Talking of angels, of love, and of hate, I’m afraid I’ll be saying the same old cliches. And if I’m being honest; I think it’s too late.

Now hope is good and hope is strong, but pain had stayed, for far too long, to see him cry and watch him fall, pain was there, through it all.

This pain he knew, now all too well, had swallowed hope, and left a shell, its brittle make, a jaded shape, left nothing then, for pain to take.

He cursed his name, and others too, because of pain, no one knew, but who could blame, a young mans curse, when dealt a hand, of luck reversed?

To live a life, of woes unfair, plagued by strife, as fate declared, that he would know, the pain of chance, all alone, in circumstance.

To make it worse, no one tried, to hear his words, and soothe his mind, they laughed at him, and mocked his pain, until he lost, all hope again.

No shock then, that he had shattered, weighed down so, by years of pain, though he cared, for all that mattered, no one dared, do the same.

So he gave himself, to all around, in hopes that he, could see them through, the pain they felt, when they were down, as pain to him, was nothing new.

You ever think you’re tired of paradise? Honestly what’s the difference between here and the afterlife? It’s not like you’re trapped, you can go wherever you please, see what you want to see, honestly the only thing holding you back is earthly attachments. A job, a house, a car, there’s too many bat-**** people kicking it here waiting for the sequel like that’s gonna be better. Honestly ask yourself if the difference between here and heaven is a wealth of positivity why’s it so impossible for you to be happy down here? I think the answer is clear, you’re tired of paradise.

I live for expression,
A common cause of depression,
Not saying I have it,
That would be tragic.

But I’ve looked at my father,
And bothered to ask it,
I said, “Do you think we’re depressed?”
He said, “No, we just feel for the casket.”

From that day on,
I’ve stumbled along,
Living life like a dream,
Where yesterday’s clear and tomorrow is gone.

He said to me “Son,
We are the givers,
And we have to be strong,
We feel for the pain and ease it along.”

“We open ourselves to the hurt and the worst,
Coating our shells with words in a verse,
Taking time then to hear, understand?
Being sincere is our role in the plan.”

But I look at him then,
And I think, and I see,
That out from his pen,
He writes so tragically.

And I wonder now often enough,
If the answer he gave was real or a bluff,
If giving’s our role then let it be said,
We carry the toll of depression expressed.

A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
To stir my thoughts with sudden force,
It’s time to answer, evermore,
The “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,

It asks the question, “What’s my name?”
As I walk in haste up to the frame,
Yet answer slowly all the same,
And as I answer, it slips away.

I ponder there in solemn thought,
At this sudden, urgent shock,
“What was the name, now I forgot.”
And rack my brain for what was lost.

Tomorrow comes and all the same,
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the frame,
Asking me to give a name,
For the “Rap-tap-tapping” from the frame.

I hear a distant, echoed voice,
A rapier-witted, clever boy,
And turn to face him just to find,
A trail of photos left behind.

One of me and 4 of you,
In rather somber fading view,
I look them over with saddened eyes,
And start to wonder “Who was I?”

I shake it off and face the door,
And answer slowly as before,
To find the asker there had gone,
And left a note to ponder on.

I take the note and write it down,
A name to match the question found,
And tuck it there in simple sleeve,
To be kept safely as I sleep.

Tomorrow comes and then once more,
A “Rap-tap-tapping” from the door,
Asking questions as before,
With such sudden, urgent force.

In mirrored haste and matching speed,
I pull the note there in my sleeve,
Yet find that all the words were gone,
As the “Rap-tap-tapping” carried on.

Across the oceans and the skies, I've searched for angles low and high, some were bright and others dull, but all I'd hoped, could soothe my soul.

The first I'd found was fond of fun, a flattering sort by trade, used her wit and silver-tounge, to steal my heart away.

Her honied words the sweetest lies, ever heard by any ear, well rehearsed and often tried, though rarely true I fear.

The air seems cool and crisp in memory, and perhaps it was, then. Or maybe I'm simply lost now, and looking back to find my way, I couldn't say for sure.

I do know that something is off, though not to be penned to a face or a name. But what then could cause such unrest in so young a soul, to feel old like canyons, withered away?

Teenage angst may play a part, though years late on que, still seeing bits of broken heart, but this is nothing new.

Maybe then some trait of time does haunt me in my thoughts, a mid-life-crisis In my prime, to keep me lost to some degree.

My only way to deal with life is simply passing by, so I see it in nostalgic view, a vague impression of present state to keep me walking onward.

Across these lonely shores I've been,
Countless times before,
Tracing lines into the sand,
To connect to something more.

I write a name to shape a face,
And reflect in shades of gray,
How it felt to see this place,
With others here to stay.

I remember all,
And all to well,
I recall a simple smile,
Telling me to just relax,
And reminisce awhile.

And who am I to deny these ghosts?
They soothe my soul with ease,
So I sit down to have a chat,
With my old memories.

But all good things must come to end,
Or so the saying goes,
I say goodbye to my old friends,
And remember that I'm alone.

To whom it may concern, my friends and family who will no doubt wish to say goodbye, say it now, and I will hear you.

Say it now loud enough for me to hear and know how much I meant, say it now so we can smile in this moment together.

Say it now like you’ve always said it since forever and realize forever isn’t that long. Forever was a minute at 8, a block away at 10, and a mile apart at 12.

Forever away can be the distance it takes for a friend to realize they miss you, or it can be gone in a moment with one phone call.

Forever is all the time it takes to get from here to there until you blink. So if you ever find yourself thinking forever away is too far, take a look at where you are, remember how it took forever to get here?

Forever is always near so don’t you ever forget about the memories we made together, those are yours, forever.

It was peaceful last night..I got on a bus, so happy about where we were going. Thinking of beautiful islands, ships, and little drink umbrellas, When I was informed by a holy man that you had died.

To my surprise I felt no pain from this, no never ending stream of tears to drown out my loss and make it whole, as though a single one shed could toss me from the outskirts of acceptance.

Seconds passed, this I know, then minutes, maybe hours before I dared to move again. When the bus screeched to a halt, the man who had told me, he said we arrived.

I simply reached in my pocket, grabbed my old phone, and told him I'd get off at the next spot. With a sigh of compassion, he said he understood, and I stayed quiet there, for long minutes of thought.

Then finally, what had been weighing so heavy on my mind had moved to my lips, and I couldn't bare the strain of silence anymore. Without thought or control I yelled, "How could you know?!"

The man smiled at me apologetically and said she went to his church. This had only left me outraged, as my mind was met with even more questions. Until he finally told me to check my phone.

Confused and angry, I nearly smashed the thing in protest of the entire affair. But the man could see this, and stayed my hand. He gave a warm smile, and told me that all would be clear after I read the messages.

Then for a moment, my senses returned and I took the man's word for truth. I looked at my phone, away from the games I had up to distract, and saw their, that my inbox read "2."

I paused for a moment, unsure of what to trust, or maybe to do, and hovered my finger over the keys. I wanted to move forward, I wanted to press on, but I knew I'd have to accept whatever I saw as truth, and for a moment the temptation was there to reject the affair and hit "delete" as a fool.

But try as I did, I couldn't bring myself to do it. To wipe away, what I knew could be your last words to me, any memories I could hold to in these defining moments.

So I pressed the button, to see the messages there. The first I read slowly, a note which read so sweetly as to say goodbye. It held your favorite slang, like a casual conversation. And had sections name by name, addressed to every person.

First your mother, then your father, then your brother, and sister too. Every name you had addressed, they loved you through and through. And when I read, your words aloud, it was clear that this you knew. But could not bare the thought of how, we'd all be missing you.

I read the words, line by line, and your sweet words rang true. I tried my best, but could not find, my last words from you.

Then I realized, that you had left a second note for me to read. Addressed to me in so tender a tone, that my heart did skip a beat.

I read the words and dropped my phone, I couldn't seem to move. I tried my best to thank the man through the tears that I was weeping. But he simply smiled and held up his hand, as his eyes followed suit.

If death should come for me, I'll ask to dance in trade. For my soul is untouchable, and this I shall declare as every brave hearted fool before me has done. We will twist and tango until death knows what it means to breathe life into old bones again, and mine shall wither away. there we shall stand, on reversed ends, and death shall beg to stay. But the reapers call is endless, and must be fulfilled. So without second thought, and a grin ear to ear, I shall carry out the reaping, which the fates seemed to will. And thus, death shall know loss, he never did before.

Ten words is just one sentence, no matter how powerful.

Sometimes I lay awake, trying to remember what I forgot. Like all the times we never fought, because I never thought of you as anything less than beautiful.

It never crossed my mind that I might forget to be kind the next time around when I got the chance to say, "Good morning, I love you."

Because it's true that what I felt for you was nothing short of amazing. Your breathtaking smile giving life to my heart, kept me waiting with bated breath to see it once more.

And every day I made sure to give you my best guess at the word "love." Like it was something to be proud of, I gave you my heart.

In the hopes that I could start each and every day the same way I always did, with "Good morning, I love you." But life, isn't always a fairy tale..

And sometimes, it was easy to sell me on the idea that our love was never worth it.

Because on the days we fought, and our best guess wasn't perfect, I somehow forgot all the times I remembered to say "Good morning, I love you."

Our voices raised, our tempers flared, we compared each other to tidal waves, ready to crush all hope we had of love.

And soon we found that in our rage, that beautiful phrase wasn't enough to hold a gaze of love any longer.

So now sometimes, I lay awake, trying to remember what I forgot, like all the times we never fought, and I got the chance to say, "Good morning, I love you."

Please Don’t Go..

Dear Mother, please don’t go..

The news has barely had time to set in and already I feel a crescendo of tears raising up to greet me, and every memory I had so neatly tucked away is now blaring out on full display begging me to remember. But I can’t grasp at just one, all I can do is fight to process all the progress that led us here, to this 2/5 chance.

A 2/5 chance cancer might rear its ugly head. A 2/5 chance to end the dance of life and see you dead in the ground, and honestly I’ve seen the impact a minority number can have with a loud enough sound but I’ve never heard one so pronounced as this..so please don’t go.. because I’m not ready to say I’ll miss you..

Once upon a time, I knew how to write. I knew every line, every word like they were child's play came to me with ease and speed to say the perfect thing in just the right way to say the thought that was stuck on my mind. The thing is, that was back then, when I believed in "Once upon a time."

My gift came first with the gentle game of love, and left with it's heart-break curse. I'd put pen to paper to write a verse that would take away all doubt of my genuine aspersions, as days marked the preparation it took for me to work up the courage to even try to find the perfect words, but it was all worth it. After all, what greater call is there to a sleeping heart than that of love?

But alas my gift was dashed upon the rocks like my fairy tale hopes, and I spent the next few years moping about how I'd lost it all. I tried to write, to express how I felt, but nothing ever felt right.

And now I feel I've lost my way. All my words have left me today, and soon there will be nothing to say.

So with the few lines I have left in my head, I just want to say that once upon a time..

I knew how to write.

They clashed with pride, and poisoned word, plied their trade, and sowed deceit, for chance of love, they all denied, the meaning of humanity.

Like wild beasts, they tore apart, the fragile shells, that kept them safe, and found beneath, a tainted heart, changed and blackened, in its state.

A sign to them, the few with reason, to leave behind, their petty wants, while fool and friend, committed treason, to soothe the pride, which they had lost.

And those who stayed, would find themselves, soon fractured, and confused, for they had made, a living hell, which pride had led them to.

Here me when I speak,
For I am the hidden king,
The advisor of the strings,
Which control this changing land.

By my own hand,
And in my own vision,
By my own right,
And slithering decision.

Your future is decided,
By my light-hearted words,
In a world so divided,
By kings of pawns-worth.

Let no man go,
Unpunished for his deeds,
His just reward or woe,
For twisted acts of greed.

Let no man decide,
That he is above the rest,
For it is only I,
Who holds the very best.

Of interest, of heart,
Of all that falls apart without my say,
I hold the strings,
And my fellow kingsmen  obey.

For it is I the advisor,
Who understands the truth,
I am the king’s decider,
My word is absolute.

Break in case of emergency,
Emotional uncertainty,
Anxiety,
A struggle with sobriety,
A squabble with the family,
Or something no one else can see,
When you need a friend for listening,
Who else to them,
But quiet me?

Why don't I ask the one person I feel would have an answer? That's what I want, right? An answer. Something to live for, to be good at, to feel comfortable with? That's what I should want, right? So why don't I ask if it would help me find peace?

To be honest with you, I really think I'm afraid..I'm afraid because all I've had to keep me going since I was a child was this strange search for purpose. I've longed for it, I've craved it, I thought I wanted nothing more in this world than to find some reason for ME to be here..

And I found it, once...I saw that I was good at fixing things. Though my expertise wasn't cars or computers like some might think, it was broken heart strings...because It turns out that years of loneliness does wonders for understanding how the wounds we don't see can be the ones to bring us down..

And for awhile, I was happy healing those wounds..until a question hit me. Like a broken record doomed to repeat, It played over and over again, it kept asking me.
"Do you really care how others feel? Or is this all for you?"

And truth be told, I was terrified because I didn't know the answer. And rather than facing the music and asking myself honestly, I chose to just stop trying..I gave up giving myself for others, so that I wouldn't have to face the fact, that giving a helping hand, was my last stand for helping me..

So now a question plagues my thoughts, it's the question of my life. And I cannot dare ask loved ones, for fear that they would lie, yet through all the years that I have lived, I still can't seem to answer this.

"What kind of man am I?"

If I'm being honest, it's like a monster hiding in my closet that I don't want to acknowledge because the moment that I do it becomes real.

It's like the things that I feel don't really matter, because honestly I'm happier gathering up the pieces of my memory that I left behind while trying to survive then I am just being alive.

Because for me, my life is a movie I don't really watch, it's just the background noise I keep on repeat to distract myself from getting lost in memory as more of them pass by.

To be honest I don't remember much until the age of nine, when I said goodbye to my father to see my dad for the first time. We got along well.

Then comes me at ten, a timid, tense, and nervous wreck going in for my first routine check with the doctor before he told me a repeat surgery would make me a temporary amputee every couple of years, a common practice.

Next is me at twelve all perplexed because my heart swelled the first time I met an angel. I remember well her broken wings had the most beautiful feathers I'd ever seen, they were black and grey with hints of scattered ink beneath, so she didn't mind when I asked to borrow one for a pen so I could begin to express in words how often she took my breath away.

After that was the aftermath of me from fourteen to sixteen wishing I could take back every word I wrote. Every memory was either a quick stick-and-move jab or a knockout-punch quote that to this day I can't come back from.

Ever since then it's just been re-runs of the same show day in and day out, I wake up with a smile flipped from last night's failure to pen anything new, and pick up the pieces that fell through the cracks from the day before.

I found one once,
Who stole my heart.
Though twisting pride,
Did tear apart,
All hope we had,
Of loving fate,
As she found love,
In many names.

As the simple man,
I planned to be,
I said to her,
With begging plea,

"My eyes see you,
As angles do,
Radiant and heavenly.
So if our love,
Should end this way,
Consumed by passion's
growing blaze,
By fate's decree,
I swear it true,
For now and always,
I love you."

She simply smiled,
And walked away,
With heavy heart,
She left my gaze,
And turned to meet
Another man,
Who offered gold,
With heart in hand.

He promised her,
A house to keep,
A car to have,
And a place to sleep.
All these things,
He promised grand,
Though never stopped,
To understand,
Why she felt,
So unhappy.

He gave her all,
But one great thing,
He left out love,
Which left a sting.
Upon her heart,
She felt a *****,
As cupid's arrows,
Did the trick.

She longed again,
For simple tastes,
Two tender hearts,
And love's embrace.
Though when she left,
Her house of gold,
To find a simple man,
She found he left,
A tombstone cold,
That softly read:

"By fate's decree,
I swear it true,
For now and always,
I love you."

The only time,
I seem to care,
Is when the sun,
Swings 'round to call me.
When birds are heard,
Through morning air,
And no memories,
Dare befall me.

No twisting doubts,
Or nagging pains,
No binding chains to hold,
Though this is grand,
The fact remains,
The day will soon unfold.

And with it too,
My chores will come,
This thing I do call work,
Shall drive me mad,
And drive me numb,
And leave me in the dirt.

Yet still I rise,
To greet it strong,
Just as life demands,
"How time flies,"
"You don't have long,"
"So spend it with your hands."

Counting money,
Or busing tables,
And spinning fables,
To get you through,
This life of yours,
Which you call stable,
Though we know,
This isn't true.

So why on earth,
Do we live this way,
Spending time in foolish fashion,
We work ourselves,
'Til dying day,
And rarely find our passions.

Yet still we rise,
As days before,
And continue this "Nothing Cycle."
We give our lives,
To something more,
A state of true,
Denial.

Once, I knew her words to be somber sickening little things. The burdens she carried so heavily on her white and withering wings. Alas it was she who showed me the truth, that beauty may be found in heavy words. Fit to pull the heavens down to earth they were, and that was the birth of me. When all merry mirth found a new place to hold residence; in the sad and somber. ‘Twas after this I found myself chasing memories of her seductive shell. ‘Twas after this where halos only fell upon horned heads which could do no wrong. It was thanks to she that I saw beauty in weighted wings.

Once taught, the value of self-worth by the worthless.
Once learned, to be a crutch for the broken to use.
Once traded, my own feelings in to feel perfect.
Once gained, an addiction to tales sad and true.

It isn't right, to know pain so well.
It isn't fair, when it can be a friend to you.
It isn't just, to help the broken who fell.
It isn't good, when their stories renew.

All faith you held, in your own worth.
All hope you had, once full and well.
All joy you gave, in merry mirth.
All peace you got, whilst curing ails.

The madness starts, when it's all for you.
This twisting tale, of parasite care.
Given in haste, in hopes to renew.
All promise of worth, in times of despair.

It's been so long since I've remembered,
The gentle blue sky and calming breeze,
Or surrendered myself to peaceful sleep,
Under a shady backyard tree.

It's been so long since I've caught a ball,
Or touched a base as a mat or a home,
I used to love to find a hiding place,
Amidst the forest I once roamed.

It's been so long since I've felt that wonder,
And I miss it well and true,
I miss the days that I spent under,
A sun that I once knew.

Nowadays he'***** or miss,
A friend of simple tastes,
But when he shines it's truly bliss,
I love it when he stays.

Yet when he leaves and the clouds roll in,
I simply smile at them and try to breathe,
Hello today my old friends,
So kind of you to visit me.

There are times when I doubt,
More often than I want to admit,
Whether it’s worth it to say I love you,
For the 100th time.
Because even though you’ve only heard it once,
You’re always on my mind,
And I’ve written 99 bad rhymes trying to figure out just the right way to say,
I love you.

But honestly, I feel like it loses worth the more we use those words.
From moment to moment,
Minute to minute, hour to hour,
The power of those words,
is found somewhere between often,
And never,
Just common enough to be delightful,
But rare in a way that a tactical box of chocolates and 99 bad rhymes are just clever enough to mean the world..

So I’m sorry if I try too much to make those moments perfect, but I want I love you to be worth the phrase,
And when I look at you,
I know that saying it was worth the wait.

There's always a period of change. This blood of ours has a history of grand revolution, if we can't find a solution to our lives, we simply change to be someone else, and who could blame us for opting to run, besides ourselves?

We toss and turn, we earn the trust of those we love, and burn the bridges of our memory. Over night we seem to lose all traces of our former selves, and throw the remains of our old prison cells overboard.

We cast aside the truth for lies, in hopes of finding a better answer than the one we had before. We give ourselves a clever guise, worthy of a king, though jesters we are born.

And who could blame us, besides ourselves for chasing a fools dream? A fact of life, this seems to be, that change occurs constantly.

On life,
On death,
On me,
Ennui.

To move from dream to dream,
To think and recollect,
To drift within the stream,
Of life and then to jest.

How everything is clear,
How everything is grand,
How the world is sincere,
That never still it stands.

To curse the state of time,
And watch it slip away,
Perceived by the mind,
Ennui, just the same.

On we to our dreams,
Of platinum-plated wants,
Wether small or larger things,
Ennui, to the lot.

If nothing else, I hope that you can understand.

Be caring, be kind, do not reprimand those daring enough to unwind and tell you of the sorrows they face, because by tomorrow you could be in their place.

Wanting and wishing for those around you to start hearing and listening to what pains you've gone through.

To lend their ears to your words as if everything you've said is like nothing they've heard.

As though you hold the key to the universe behind eyes of despair, and all you need to reach it, is for one person to care enough to hear you.

So that all those near you, may  know peace in getting you through your space of sorrow, and by tomorrow, you'll be there to listen in thier place again so they may call you friend.

I'd like to say, that it doesn't matter what words I use, what stories I write, that I don't lie awake at night trying to turn my broken memories into something, anything meaningful for others to use, so they get a better view of life than the bitter one I got. But I'd be lying.

And I'd like to say, that lying is something I'm not used to, that every word I speak is truer than the last, every "I'm ok." and "I love you." Is a phrase I never knew before the moment it's said, I'd like to say that.
But I'd be lying.

I'd like to say, that I've never rehearsed a fake smile, never been down for a while over something so heartbreaking it left me shaking in a fragile state of mind that drew a line for me to follow all the way to nowhere.
But I'd be lying.

And I'd like to say, that it doesn't matter to me, wether people can see what I mean, that I can put on a smile and tell them "It's ok." like a normal routine, and wake up every day feeling happier than I've ever been, but I'd be lying.

To the angel that I’ve yet to meet,
That gentle spark of creativity,
The calling card of humanity,
I’m so glad to see you sane.

Though the years apart do paint their toll,
For all of us to see,
None of that matters anymore,
Now that I’ve met you,
And you’ve met me.

I’d say I love you here,
But the years apart have been unkind,
For we both have our weight to carry,
But seeing you here sets all my care free,
Enough that maybe is almost certain.

So before we hear the curtain call,
Put on a dazzling display,
Of heart, of warmth, of spirit,
Set your weary heart to sea,
And let’s float gently together.

Child's play degrades with age and makes its way on through the days, until its mark is cast away and in its place are aches and pains.

In memory's love it makes its stay before the times of old and grey, and gives its best of laughter joyous to see you off on life's great voyage.

A time for you to see the sights marked by many empty nights, filled with wonder for the day of what to do in golden rays.

For the sun leaves too and in its passing leaves the moon which wanes and waxes, to say to you in crescent fashion a month has past in life's contraption.

As time does fade in passing days and leaves behind with little trace, the things you knew were true in spades to see them easily replaced.

The first was cursed to love a man,
Who never knew the word.
As though rehearsed,
It was his plan,
To leave her in the dirt.

He spoke of only lies until,
One day he had been caught,
And still she loved for who he was,
Though not the man she thought.

The second was beckoned,
To try her hand,
At a game of making-match,
Odds were low,
But chance be ******,
It was all the chance she had.

At first she found,
The game had worked,
Though not as was intended,
He struck her down,
With more than words,
And then their love was ended.

The third had heard her call to love,
But never did she listen,
She searched for those,
Who gave their hearts,
And all of their attention.

And so she saw that none would last,
Because she never looked,
For those who chose to call her name,
Were fearful, shy, and shook,
So they watched her slip away,
Until they stopped and walked away,
And all were left with longing.

To be honest, I thought I knew your story.
I thought I knew your struggles to a degree that’s hard to explain. The pain of knowing the world is not all it’s cracked up to be, I thought we were the same..but when I see you, when I finally take the time to step outside my head and away from thinking, I get the chance to see who you really are and I am stunned. There, in that moment the only thing that matters is you, and the truth as you know it, defined by your smile shines true in the end, every time I think I know you, you go and smile. So please, stay and talk awhile, I want to get to know you.

I’ve seen the place where women drive low
The spirits of good men and play the victim. I’ve seen unconquerable hearts fall under the siege of great Helen and question their own self-worth. Likewise I have seen Alexander spread his influence too far and ruin what could have been the world’s greatest empire, until he is forced to burn his own cities to the ground rather than concede defeat. It is easy to lose your way and view the world by this great struggle, but don’t. I can tell you that even as a bystander to that line of thinking, I’ve been caught in it’s grasp on both ends. It’s a poison, a lie created by vulnerable hearts so they can play the victim like it’s something to be proud of. Instead, remember that there are good people in this world who are completely separate from that struggle, and you could be too.

"O angels please,
I plead to thee,
Show some mercy,
In plans for me.

In trying times,
I've tried my best,
To pray to you,
For any rest.

A loving heart,
A gentle soul,
A sign to point,
Which way to go.

A light to guide,
A hand to hold,
A source of warmth,
In bitter cold.

A place to hide,
A shelter free,
From any sense,
Of tragedy.

But still you watch,
And still we wait,
For any shred,
Of dawn to break."

So it goes,
The saying old,
The sun shall come,
To banish cold.

The clouds will flee,
And joy will spread,
To all of those,
With hope still left.

"To all of you,
The lucky few,
To make it through,
The dreadful nights.

Enjoy the view,
You've made it here,
Breathe it in,
With small delight.

The bodies stiff,
Shall mark your trial,
And memories then,
Shall sing and dance.

To remind the cost,
Of true denial,
Count the lost,
The numbers grand.

The price of life,
A heavy sum,
Will weigh enough,
To break the one.

Who dared to dream,
Of bigger things,
Who played at god,
And grew his wings.

Who soared so high,
He met the sun,
And tumbled then,
The foolish one."

He angered them,
The ones that saw,
Those who made,
Eternal law.

And swiftly then,
Did they enact,
A greatly awful,
Ancient pact.

The sun would fade,
Away from view,
To signal then,
The end anew.

And all would freeze,
And all would starve,
Except for those,
Of faithful heart.

"A simple thing,
To ask of them,
Remain our creatures,
Not our kin."

A poison spreads today,
From all the words which carry weight,
Spoken true or never heard,
We pay so much for every word,

Consider then the asking price,
Of lending ears or some advice,
Or open arms fit to embrace,
Forget the words and make a change.

That’s all it takes for most you see,
To shed the weight and become free,
But who am I to speak to you,
On things that I was forced to do?

From shade to shade,
I’ve danced and played,
From red to blue,
In every hue,
And all the colors,
Shine  the same,

Yet separate still,
By stubborn will,
All are different,
Within the frame,
And so they judge,
In such a way,
To live divided,
In this place.

By earthy base,
Or dullest-grays,
Separate too,
By weight and age,
Baby Blue or heavy states,
Like green and brown,
So simply named.

Some are dark,
And others light,
Marked by names,
Like black and white,
But still and so,
They have a place,
On the canvas,
All the same.

The tune will carry the weight,
As the hand rushes away in rhythm,
Don't stop writing now,
No time to look back,
Race the fleeting song away,
Before the doubting black.

Feel your eyes drift away to reread a line,
But stay focused,
Don't stop now,
There is no time for self doubt.

Who cares what you write down?
It's yours right now,
Worry about the details later,
When you feel drained,
See what comes of writing today.

When the writing feels stiff and stifled,
Uninviting where once delightful,
Where do you hang a pen?
From end to end I’ve searched my soul,
I’ve looked within, I’ve paid the toll,
I’ve strolled deep down that memory lane,
But writing now just feels too plain.
So I ask you now my dear old friend,
My dried up, withered, wilting pen,
Where do I hang you in the end?
With words all gone and want well spent,
What show you now in your defense,
But passion’s long and growing blaze,
Died to embers in it’s place?
Have you nothing left to say,
With such old and fading grace?
Where do I hang you in dismay?
To say goodbye and walk away.

I have nothing more to write about,
Since you moved in; all else moved out,
All thoughts of how to win your heart,
Of love and joy in equal parts,
All are gone; and there a drought.

And ever since that fateful day
I lay my words out on display,
All too dated and so cliche,
But what am I supposed to do?
A hopeless fool when meeting you,
And in romance I'll stay the same,
My heart forever calls your name.

Yet even so I wonder then,
What good to me is written pen,
When nothing seems to find its place,
Longing still for better days.

I’ve had enough of love,
The sitting around wondering what you’re thinking of,  trying to act like I don’t care when the truth is I just wanna be there next to you, I swear it’s true. from now on it’s just me and you so let’s put it all to a rest and give love our best guess at a first date, ‘cause talking to you is a gift I just can’t take, but when I do I feel like I need to wake up from a dream. I can’t even bring myself to think that maybe just for a second this is real, the way you make me feel got me second guessing at the best thing on earth, you make all the trouble worth it. I think calling it love is cheesy but in other words you’re perfect.