All we "writers" "poets"
Walk with a limp
Have a thorn in our side
We're a collective gimp
And in our words, hide
Yet, bare all
Our souls, hearts, scars
Our memories, call
Observationists, we are
Feeling too much,
Feeding on ours, and others, scars
We, are watchers of, life
The good, the bad,
love and strife
We watch the happy, The sad,
All heaven and hell, knows
We're all "mad"
And it shows
Is this bad?
No
It's what we are
We all walk with a limp

It was called "The Right Of Spring"
I was scared, excited, elated
Taking my place on the stage above the footlights,
I shook, like an earthquake of the soul
I'd danced this piece several times before, but never in front of such a number of eyes
The other dancers seemed fine
We'd practiced for 8 months for this particular show
We were to perform twice daily, for 3 days
Hard, excruciating work
But such is the dance
I began to sweat profusely, I felt the blood draining from my face
And right at the second turn,
I hit the floor with a thud.
Becoming human

Feeling that feel good
it felt good to give a new pound coin
to an old beggar,
but then I didn't feel so good,
what if
he bought drugs with it?
or
what if
it was spent on drink?

then I felt better
how many drugs could a pound buy?
and how much alcohol?
unless it was that lightning cider krap
and even then a quid wouldn't get rid
of the thirst in a gnat
so I felt the feel good until,
what if,
he choked on his cheap rotgut
overdosed on a shot
put
that in perspective

would the feel good factor
factor in my defence?

I don't feel so good now.

Leave your imperfections
that I might know that you are human
That your stumblings
might resound a warmth unto my heart

Thy errs find grace
and forgiveness
in the steps I tread
before you

For I was no better
nay worse
than the efforts of your globe
of conjecture

My golden orb
fails in warmth
As I dreams of avenues
and cobblestone alleys

Of love of those
I know not any more
**** , this curse of time's
finagling abomination !

Yet I find hope
in the rebirth and youth
Let two souls come together
and remake the world anew

As for my glory
It comes down to reason
and the hope
that our imperfections remain intact

No matter what happens just keep playing kid.
I was sixteen when I first started playing music as a DJ in a little redneck bar in Carolina .

Green as a glade of grass that would soon change .
I hung with the barflys the rejects the bikers and the ones that just couldn't leave there past behind.

I wasn't friends with kids my age I found my crowd and tried every vice in between.
You don't know **** at sixteen so don't pretend you do I learned from those who scars were many as the stories they told.

I watched the crowd they were always willing to turn on you
It was sink or ******* swim in a sea of smoke and stale beer .
The women weren't like the girls in high school .

There was no delusion of something more just a fast night and a good time followed by a ****** up hangover .
I had nothing in common with my own age group hell I partied with there parents knew off duty cops thieves and dope dealers .
They were all full of **** in there own way.

I cared little for a classroom I learned everything I needed to survive in those little dive bars .
I was underage six foot four acted and looked older so I just fit in .

There was danger
There was always some **** just waiting to happen .
No wonder I left the awkward world of social climbers and ******* proms behind.

Money was fast and so was everything worth a goodtime.
Who the **** needs someone when you can have the chaos of another night.
It was everything that I missed and never knew existed .

I will always remember that little ugly *** stage .
The faces changed real music still lives .
I gave them happiness they gave me there money.

It was my life's college .
The brain would learn what the pen would write many years later .
If your worried bout the page at sixteen your lost already.
Life will fill in the gaps .

Live first then it will all eventually fit together .

I forget everything now but I never forget those times .
One stage is always like the next .
The only rule no matter what happens when your up there .
Just keep playing kid .

Just keep playing.

Clasped a coffin handle, cold and bronze,
Felt the weight of earth's return to land,
Solemnity a clammy sweat upon my palms.

Six quiet men, prepped to stand and bear
The loaded cask, our passenger unaware,
Unheeding lids held tight her sightless stare,
While I, her nephew, stood wondering there.

Scarce breathing in my fear and grief, I strained,
Unwilling soldier forced to march in train
Toward a punctual station beside a mound of earth,
The period ending to a sentence spun from birth.