Many thanks to all of you,
who've given me their time.
Took a pause from busy days,
to read this drunkards lines.
I've never asked for compliment,
but some are so inclined.
I still am shocked to see such praise,
on these, my humble rhymes.
So again my friends, I give my thanks
you all are much too kind.
And I hope a few have had some fun,
in skimming through my mind.

Everything we never said,
every ounce of love I bled,
the memories I thought were dead,
the silence spells it out.
And what I believed I'd beaten down,
the feelings I thought strangled out,
It's got me reeling, nearly kneeling now,
the silence sounds it out.
Foreboding like the coming rain,
or worse yet winds that sound like trains,
I choke on sorrow, drown in shame,
the silence screams it, now.

Now I'm too ****** up to write,
it's probably time I called the night.
I just can't seem to shake my strife,
I'm wallowing and hating life.
I'm tired of the constant fight,
I wish someone would hear my plight.
Deliver me unto the light,
and see my misery take flight.

Fear me, dear.
For though my tongue drips with honey
and words flow from my mouth smooth as midnight silk;
A volatile demeanor and proficiency with word craft
can see this sugar turn to venom with the swiftness and severity,
of a lightning strike.
I will cut you down.
Fear me, dear.
For though in this moment I describe my adoration,
as though its' power would make a super nova pale in comparison.
Too much time creating my own little worlds,
in which I incorporate all that which has caused my bliss and sorrow,
has blurred my reality.
You will become another story.
Fear me, dear.
For though my smile melts you as a hot knife through butter,
and you hear every word I speak with a tone of utter sincerity,
I'm far too fond of writing truth between the lines,
of layering what I really feel so deep it's near impossible to find.
You will never know.
Fear me, dear.
It's for the best.

In the name of my fathers,
I will sow havoc and destruction,
upon all who dare attempt squander my freedom.
I will rain a flaming hell,
on any who would see my brothers harmed.
My enemies will learn to fear my wrath,
as they would the very anger of GOD,
himself.
All that defy my righteous hand shall fall before my fury.
And they shall know,
the face of death.

Long were pen and pad,
neglected.
When sprang a muse!
Most unexpected.
A shock to find our thoughts connected,
myself I thought alone,
dejected.
Soon my hand,
was strong affected,
to see my aimless thoughts directed.
Despite the fact, I oft objected,
She's seen my words and prose projected.
So to a muse, one most respected.
I thank you Arlo!
For inspiration,
Resurrected.