Rich. I am not. Poor. I am not.
Nor do I have any money to speek of.
But I am rich beyond my wildest dreams.
I have a family that loves me, a daughter I love dearly more than my own life
and will treasure more than any bill can pay for strife.
I follow no greed to its end for I know what road gold will lead you down.
I know that in the end, I wish my family to be around.

Money buys not happiness nor does wealth buy true friends.
For they cannot be purchased by wicked, evil ends.
I have no penny in my pocket, nor have I a dime to my name
but I know that I am happy and will not live in vain.
Clothes do not make the a man and tattered are his wrags
To riches I will set myself apart and in poverty take my stand
for I know what true riches are even though I too wear my wrags.

So busy yourself for all your toil and make your money fist over hand.
In the end you die a lonely, bitter, broken man.
But when my grave calls me and before it I stand looking in.
I will die with a smile wider than monetary riches could ever buy.
For I am poor and have no home but truly, I am rich.

Flawed eventless, the muck to the mire
To the river crimson with lustful haze.
Supressed desire flows like light, rapture to the gaze.
Feverd, clamy, tossing, turning
Lying wrestless on the floor.
Sarrow slips, through the cracks,
to come smashing through the door.

Famin parched, the scream to the cry,
to the path trampled in fits of rage.
Unrelenting fire, burns like ice, denile in a cage.
Calm, relaxed, watching, breathing,
Standing idle at the sash.
Anguish waits at beck and call
to come crashing  through the glass.

Hidden in a seamless world of delight and joy and glee
A fractured cloud of misery waits
to have its cake and thee,
to reval as it sulks with company.
Ever growing spawned by fear, deathly silent in its' plea
Eating away at the sinews of faith,
dispair awaits its' time to flea.

Akin to death, friend to evil, slient screaming in its' vain
Dissolving with trust the passion of the lust
Envy plies to its bain.
Passion and fire, burning desire, these monsters are not the same.
All too familiar, confusing just the same, betrayed by flesh.
What is there cannot be had, for surely this is no game.

Dance in dark
Delight in days
Revel in reality slipping slowly to the gray.
Inky black comfort dripping into haze.

Distraught in denile
Damaged in disdain
Rememberd reason trembeling in shadows to the grave.
Nervous the edge of sanity sinking slowly below the brave.

Cringe in quiet
Crumble in cacophony
Bask in benign indifference to the coming of the fray.
Shape the broken mold into which is squezed the clay.

Form in function
Friction in fruition
Extrapolate from nothing what is real of what is fake.
Drive doom through the heart wooden to the stake.

Damaged and distroyed, disturbed and distrought, this is the friction of the fraught.

In the untimely event of my demise
Someone please pluck out my useless eyes.
Because when death comes to take its' tole,
I wish not to see that empty hole.

Dark and dingy musty earth,
rot and rancid smells at birth,
doth contend to trust not worth.
Bring forth out of filth and mire to purge mine nose of its' desire

Hear mine ears the worms that squirm,
below that massive earthen berm.
Cast out the sounds of pleading death,
take no more from lungs, my one last breath.

Feel the roots clawing through skin,
take not heed of where the've been.
Covered dirt to marrowed bones,
death waits for the to fill its' catacombs.

Taste of the thy wretched dung,
flick out of the thy evil tongue.
Speak not for grace in such a place,
where time has rendered the thy final resting place.

My dying Angel I'm sorry that I lied,
Cause even though I tried, I know that I cried,
When I could not save you and you died
I should have held my tongue, but how could I know,
That an Angels life was on the line and I'd have to watch her go.
   My dying Angel, glowing in your blood,
My eyes  have never witnessed such a peaceful death.
Like white hot embers rising from the fire,
Pieces of her drift slowly out of view.
Cast thine eyes toward the heavens, look with your heart
And there you will find her.
   My dying Angel W hat is there I can do to help the?
Quickly though I realized, it was only that I knew, no help indeed was needed.
I hear the light escaping to the stars, going back to hence it came, to live a life a-new.
So on I go knowing, what an Angel must go through, to protect their charge
ever watchful of impending heavy burden, death and doom and gloom.
   But what happens when an Angel dies is a bewilderment in beauty and peacefulness
and few have ever witnessed all that Angels do. So to my dying Angel,
I say thank you, for everything that I did not know you've done.
But still I stand before her crying, because I did not know that this was one.

Climb up the mountain, get knocked off.
Claw, fight, scratch, bight, only advance one rung at a time
and get knocked down two.
But if you got the stones, make bones make the bones fo ya.
Corse you can always line "the mans" pockets, make sure they's plenty uh padding for em to fall back on, try to guid em to the ground so they can bust they face to make they place they pocket the man in yours further a bidness is difficult to mind but the rewards.
   Start early, Stack up the bones, Got enough?
Spend more ona bigga house, betta whip, mo toys.
Get anotha credit card to pay off the interest of the previous, ohhh dont yoo feel devious? Cause you look suspicious! Or invest, play it safe, stay back away from the edge, nothing risky, always stagnant, never moving forward faster than the safety net can keep up, boring. Or, invest, learn something, keep learning some-things, all the time, never stop and have, love, cherish, enjoy family and you will never be poor again.

Ive got an Angel watchin
His tattered wings wrapped round my shoulder
Beaten, I lay broken, in tattered Angel wings
Bruised, I am battered, on tattered Angel wings.

   Slowly I weaken, consciousness is gone
Bruises becomes badges, where bleeding used to be
Broken bones mend like solid stone, Granite on my feet
Ive got an Angel with tattered wings.

   Ive got an Angel watchin
He mends the mangled mind, manic, megalomaniacal  
He takes the blows my soul cant handle
Ive got an Angel with tattered wings.

   Ive never said thank you for all that hes done
But without God, he would be none
So I give thanks to God
For the Angel with tattered wings.

   His feathers in disarray, some missing
Wounds Garnered from a life commanded  to protect one
Commanded to serve, no matter the cost, taking on what I lost
Ive got an Angel with tattered wings and when I'm taking
a leave from me he brings me back my sanity.