The parachute won't open
I'm headed towards ground
My once white underwear
Is now a shade brown.

I've been writing poetry for about thirty years now.
I have notebooks upon note books filled with many thoughts, storys and so called lessons.
Scribbles collected on stationery, box topps and restaurant napkins.
Many lost or thrown away, as I used the napkins to blow my nose when I had the flu.
I wrote poetry in my younger years
In 24 hour diners and when I wasn't to hung over to go to school.
Sadly though most of those lessons are gone to be forgotten, in dump grounds of Parma Ohio  Set in the city's ground engraved on old desk topps and tables are these thoughts. Slowly fading, like my mind, slowly detererating more each year.
I've been writing poetry for about thirty years now. I haven't accomplished a thing accept carpal tunnel and a repetive mind. Collecting and capturing my thoughts really made me see how little I think, how repetitive I really am.
Collecting and capturing these thoughts, prose and so called lessons, really accomplished not a thing.
A bunch of notebooks, loose papers and dried out pens.
Maybe there is an accomplishment from this mess, maybe it has helped me see I am a hoarder and can't let go of any of my thoughts.
Although they are all the same, just rearranged according to the day, I still think they mean something. "If something was nothing, I would be rich."
Glancing back at thirty years of beer soaked ******* and coffee stained sobbing really gives one a new perspective of how deranged life really can be.
So I'll pack another 20 sticks,  smoke faster then I breathe and write a new "profound" thought from this epiphany .

An empty bottle washes a shore.
It's contents, like mine
Are gone.
The oceans water is rough,
Like my life's journey so far.
This breeze tonight, is bitter cold,
Like my heart, left sour and old.
I have no thoughts of good nor bad
Maybe a few *******, but who wants that?
It's lonely out here alone,(beautiful as well.)
So I carve these us less words
Upon this old piece of drift wood.
Throwing it from my shore,
To only be found by some other sap.
I think I'm keeping the bottle thou.
No one ever understood me until we met.
Thanks to you cold, rough ocean's tide.
Thank you for this beautiful gift of a new friend.
- THE TIDE WITHIN ME

Bullied and beaten his whole life.
His body drown,
His soul trapped under ice.
Judged by a town,
He was a only  few,  
no one told their secret,
But, they all knew.
In the creek, in the town
Under ice, they'd be found
Wooden cross, sacrifice
Belief so strong, it took their mind.
Judging all who doubted a faith
Killing in the name of
Their fathers grace.
Nightmarish screams
Echo across the lake.
In a deserted town
Who'd never admit their mistakes.

Resurfacing his demons of the past.
He climbs a thorn filled vine
To scape over the tallest of brick walls.
Nail like thorns breaking off in his palms,
With each slightest movement of hand.
Some briars even as deep as breaking through the backside of his hand.
Although the pain immense,
His grip holds tight, to achieve the top of wall.
His legs shredded, from the razor like thorns.
Pants completely  torn,
As soon will be his flesh.
They say once a king has taught his men all they can learn. To beware, beware for some men take the gift of kindness to their advantage. Once shown the strength held in numbers, if his men choose anarchy. They can defeat and overthrow. Un grateful,  un knowing, selfish beings.
Unleash the Lions!  As he run for his life. With each grasp, climbing higher each time. Bloodied, torn and exhausted. Finally he lay his beaten body on the top of the wall. His once followers, never man enough to follow his call. Cowards! He yell with his last whimper in voice. ******* go to hell,
Once given no choice.

The last  poem that stood the  earth
Traveled hard, traveled long
Yearning its words to be read
To be heard, to be understood
Bred from the thoughts of a poet
To be carved in the finest parchment
By the sharpest of quills
Bleeding in its own ink
To be felt, once read,
As it was when once born.

-The silence held in a once poets mind.
My mind is a desert
Thoughts and tears
It's rain.

A once lavish field
Turned to a sandstorm
Of lies and pain.

With a shell as hard
As the deserts land
my once freedom lies
In the enemies hand

Forming around is a crust
Of stone
To protect, the very little
I still call my own.

Thoughts no more-
The once strong and bold
Have now
Dried and shriveled
And are
Buried deep in some hole.

I drain these once were words
Turned to thoughts.
From my pen, to paper
Yet you still refuse to read them.
As my pen ink drys
And tears subside.
Thinking this road,
Has come to an end, for tonight.
I swig my whiskey,  
Stare in my mirror,
Are you going to let them stop you?
All of your fears?
I curse to God, for he's  the only one who cares.
Light a smoke, as it rolls to my eye
The last of my ink, in my pen has died.
These words are no good,
Yet these thoughts, must be read.
I must carry on,
The message in my head.
I grab my worthy pen,
"Let's make history my friend "
Jabbing it's point to my heart
Filling it with my thoughts,
Torn apart.
Now I will write in blood
My thoughts of strength flood
My mind sets free
As my heart still bleeds.
Dying slowly, I smile
Finally you see my style.
Read these words, of once was I
Then burn them with my soul aside
Set them free to the sky
Scattered ashes, say goodbye.

The script is never finished
This rewritten bogle of the once poetic mind
Is now just a lonely road
to non sensual loving words
Leading to a heart,  with nothing to show except for its deadening one way street for the broken and untrusting.
This world burns of fire, as it freezes our soul.
Stopping life in its tracks
Painting some abstract strokes
Of a now still life.
Of a life that was, once known
This battered city of the hopeful hearted has devoured every dream
And blackened all its goals
Leading the newly blind
To steal and collect there souls
Rewritten words,
claimed as new thoughts
Piles of guilt
Innocence now lost
Rewritten is this script
Taking from all its originality
Claimed by others as knowing
Known by me
As never learnt.

The sky was blood red
From the stars bleeding heart
The weeping of the moon
Left a mist in the midnights air

My soul - the moon
Had melted that night
Turning a once blue sky,
To a now, deep shade of red
The once happy sunshine filled sky
Was now darkened, from one heart
Broken, with despise

The sky hid inside
The cloud filled tear
As our only wish,  
relied on a single star
A dream to last only until
Its final destination burning out
Of falling  to ground
Never to be thought of again.

A soulful thought,
With a hopeful beat
Once makes a stand
Now forced to take a seat
Once a star
Now just another color
Blending into the deep sky
Setting back
more with each glimpse
Until finally it has faded
To nothing.

The sky wore purple bruises
Trying to mask the violence
Taking out on a un protected soul
Covered in pain
Lashed in lies,
To be looked upon
Or thought of
Never the same
-again

I weep like the willow
As I sit here staring at her grave
Rope burns in my mind
Her swinging body
Lifeless I would find.