There's gold dust in the palms of your life
It glitters as the winds wish it away
You cannot measure the merit of a man
In bone , blood , and flesh
But by his mark made on the stones
Through the eyes of eternity

My poetry,
is selfish
The dead
never stay dead
Twisting in their grave
No peace for rest
As I sprawl them ungracefully
Across my page
Dragging them from depths unknown
To live once more
Amongst my words.

Out of the darkest shell I emerge,
Bringing Out a path once trailed
I Arrive; With a story to tell
From a past once bitter
To a Path Now Fitter

Out of the grave of dreams, I Arrive
Standing on the Rays of boom
From the pains of Mirage,
To the Shadows longed for
I will take my Chances

Out of the loneliest Sea,
I conquered
Beneath the Deepest Clouds
I Fly, I sojourn without feathers
And tell my tales at Heavens Gate

had it run just straight
with no turn on either side
we all would surely fret
life is such a boring ride

life is so dully made
that's all we would say
the road is clearly laid
same looks every day

no bumps and no holes
sharp bends of surprise
the way blandly rolls
we don't fall and rise

thank god ain't so made
life has twist and turn
in search of what's ahead
we persist with the run.

We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.

We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.

We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.