It came to me in a dream one day
The perfect words that I can say
But did they work, You may ask
And in my sulk you can bask
As I tell my tale of never ending sorrow
But yet I still look forward to tomorrow
For I know tomorrows a risk worth taking
And even the next day is in the making
For as an old dream dies
Two may rise
And neither are worth ignoring
For they could feed
All the hope you need
And lead you to a life of soaring.

Writers block holding my fingers together
As the pens and pencils run for cover
The paper fled a day ago
Following my words on a path unknown
On their way to a place unseen
Where words and phrases are only free
Not held to rhymes or dynamic means
These words are free to be what they be
I've tried to lure them back to me
With sadness and madness and silly things
But they've held their distance
And made quite a resistance
And all i can do is wait in patience
As i sit at my chair do i even dare
To find where all has gone
For all the effort i have put forth
Has resulted in absolutely none

Your a saint playing the villain
In this, a prefect story of fiction.
Your a crooked cop.
When your supposed to be protecting mine
You only protecting yours
Your a tenured teacher
Escaping so soon
With your first class still in the rear-view.
Your a corrupt politician
Elected by the people
Yet holding a hand out for more.
Your a beautiful woman
Who stole something precious
And never bothered to give it back in the end.

Memories don't live like people do.
They feed off of reminders and mental cues.
They can't remind you of themselves when they want.
They can only hope enough sensation is felt in a situation
to remind their owner that they exist in their fields

S h e   d o e s n ' t   w a n t   a   m a n
S h e ' s   j u s t   t o o   a f r a i d
S h e   w o n t   t r u s t   m y   p l a n
H e   k i l l e d   h e r   a n d   h e r   b e a u t y
C o s t   m e   m y   h e a r t   a n d   h e a d
L e f t   u s   b o t h   s t r a n d e d  
L o o k i n g   a t   h e r   i   c a n   t e l l
T h a t   w h a t   w a s
W a s   g r e a t e r   t h e n   a n y t h i n g   t h a t   i s
B u t   b r i c k s   h a v e   b e e n   l a i d
S t e e p   w a l l s   o f   u n c e r t a i n t y   e r e c t e d
W h y   d i d n t   s h e   c a r e   t h e n
T o   l i s t e n   a s   I   t o l d   h e r   d o n t
I   k n e w   t h i s   w o u l d   h a p p e n
T h r o u g h   b r e a k i n g   h e r   h e a r t
H e   b r o k e   m i n e  
A n d   m a y   h a v e   r o b b e d   t h e   w o r l d   o f   a   m o d e r n   d e i t y

in the presence of a true entity
holy enough to cause an identity
to question the likeness to a goddess
and a goddess to question her god
as this being be beautifully odd
and oddly irrelevant to me
whether i choose to believe
what i already know
is but a skinned knee
or a stubbed toe
lessons learned through acts of life
acts of menace
or acts of tryphe

never have i written so fast
as the day that i met you
when our gazes met
and my eyes stuck like glue

to a beauty so elegant
so bold and outrageous
you made me feel small
next to someone so gorgeous

i never thought i had a chance
i guess thats why i didn't
for when i did
i made it so i couldn't