Call me raven
for I am sensitive
to human persecution.
I'll run away from man
and hide in the wilderness.

Call me crow
for I mock man.
I thrived on his sociality.
I laugh at his face
and at his impotent attempts
to **** me.

I drank in dark water
and my soul blackened.
I have been baptized
by darkness.
My eyes shed
the blindness
and now I see.
Demons surround us,
they rule the world,
there is no escape.
They control the direction
of the winds,
they control the world.
They feed us lies
and we call them philosophies.
They entered our minds
and our hearts
and we called them gods.
They offer us happiness
but no tomorrows.
We gave them love
but they don't give love back.
They keep us
in chains
made of fears and superstitions.
They made us
their slaves
but some of use are too dumb,
blind to see.
We are sheep
going to the slaughter,
willingly.
We say, we are on top of
the food chain
but they are above us,
demons love to feed
on us.

Poetry is
philosophy.

Poetry is the
poet's philosophy.

A poet lives by
a poetic philosophy.

He loves to study
astronomy,
she has a heavenly body,
he likes to look at her through
his telescope.
She wants him to open his heart,
He wants her to open
her legs.
He gropes her
like lost in the dark
and she feels his body
like feeling her way
out of a black hole.

The feel of paper
the touch of hardcover
the ink kissing
the paper.
Paper feel skin.
Scratch by
pen-claws
Ink bleed blood.
Hide behind hard
cover.

Everyone wants to go to heaven
but no one wants to follow the God's rules.

Children wanted to be in the house
but no one wants to follow the Father's rules.

There's a key to heaven
but everyone would
rather pick the lock.

Everyone wants to go to heaven
but they don't know who's heaven
or which rules to follow.

Everyone wants
to go to heaven
but don't know
which one that
they want to go to.

If they make
their own rules---
does heaven acknowledge them?

Everyone wants to play the game
but don't want to play by the rules.

Spring
makes me happy,
Summer
makes me feel
all warm inside,
Fall
makes me sad,
Winter
makes me sleep.

Emotions
are the poet's
master.
Emotions
are the artist's
tools.
Emotions
are the writer's
best friend.
Emotions sway
colors.
Emotions
are the musician's
soul.
Emotions
are the poet's
God.
Emotions
are the poet's
muse.

Why is it that
poets are loners.
Why is it that
artists are outcast.
Why is it that writers are
hated.
Maybe the world
notices that they are
different.
And they hated them
for it.
That's why they shunned them.

We are never alone
for God is always
with us.
Don't you hear,
listen to the silence,
you can hear a whisper,
that's God's voice.
Don't you feel
his hand on your shoulders,
that's God.
You are never alone.
For God is with you.

Death
can darken the soul.
Spirit drinks sorrows.
Black in the color
that shadows wears.
Gray skies can make
the heart fades.
Misery stops your breath.

Half truth
is another word
for a white lie.
Sometimes it's not
always as easy
to separate the truth
from the lie.
From black and white.

The best place to
hide a lie is
behind the light.
White on white
the right is not
always bright.
It's so obvious
for anyone to seek
a secret in the shadows.
Where else could
the truth hide?

Stars started out
with scars.
That's why they
shine so bright.
As the night gets darker,
with sorrows,
the brighter
the stars would
shine for joy.

The world makes
clowns.
Everyone would rather
be dark and grim,
so few of us
would put on ridiculous
and bright clothes
and paint our faces.

Woes make clowns.
We rather paint on a smile
than show our frowns.

I rather chase dreams
rather than dreaming dreams.
Never met a dreamer
who makes a living
off of a dream.
Those who dream,
do not got the chance to live.

I rather chase dreams
rather than dreaming dreams.
Never met a dreamer
who makes a living
off of a dream.
Those who dream,
do not got the chance to live.

I can prove
God's love---
He gave us
choice.
A choice
to love him.
A choice
to ignore him.
A choice
to follow him.
A choice
to follow our own ways.

What is the purpose of life?
“Art” says the artist.
“Love,” says the maiden.
“To inspire” says the writer.
“War” says the soldier.
“Humor” says the clown.
What is the meaning of life?
“Horror,” said the monster.
“***” said the harlet.
“God” said the Christian.
“Beer,” said the drunkard.
“Adventure,” said the explorer.
“The ****,” said the murderer.
“Entertainment,” said the ringmaster.
“To enlighten the mind,” said the philosopher.

“Poetry” says the poet.

This sword is getting heavy.
Been on this quest,
this crusade for a long---
I'm getting tired.

Been fighting
the fights that are
not being fought.

Going to the uncommon grounds
where all my brethern
are too afraid to go.

When I die,
when I'm gone
who will bare my sword?

Who will carry
the words?
Who will be the voice in the dark.

Why is it that wolves become dogs
and dogs become wolves.
Why is it that dogs abandon their master
to run wild.
And wolves become tamed to serve
the master.

Human might,
what folly,
how frail.
Since when does man
have the power
to defy death
and sway the celestial bodies.
Human might,
what folly,
how frail.
We claim to be wise
but we don't love our brothers.

You're in a race,
keep your eyes
on the prize.
Keep your eyes
on the light---
don't look back,
don't even glance.
Nothing else matters.
Focus on the light---
don't concentrate
on the darkness.
That's just the world,
the devil
trying to distract you
from Jesus
so turn your back
on the devil and all evil spirits.

I traded the deal
with my tears.
there will be no more
sorrows.
There will be no
more woes.
I'fe traded
all my tears
for joy.
And I, I am tired
of these chains
that I bore,
raging against demons
at war
within me.