Talking softly like the last flickers of a fires light,
Spoken as little more than a hissing whisper.
Water douses the cluster of solitary embers.
Eachs ignited, Alls extinguished.
Eachs start, Alls finish.

Talking softly, clouds utter to the stars,
Heard as little by them as the clouds hear us,
Arms out stretched to a vastly empty sky.
Eachs question, Alls solution.
Eachs clarity, Alls confusion.

Talking softly a man reasons with his dog.
The mass of people bustle endlessly by.
Mans best friend sees no logic in his master.
Eachs mystery, Alls solved.
Eachs hatred, Alls loved.

Kept emptying my person,
into your purse.
You're a beautiful girl,
but this is a curse.

Her ability to relate to me,
Seems to of deflated me,
Incapably try escaping but she
Smiles
So I stay.

Now thinking **** like,
This is love; it's the price you pay.

Whoa. Woke up to another dark day.
She's screaming because she didnt get her way.
Driven herself to near-insanity,
With other peoples petty vanity.
Stop her to say;

'Listen lover, this is over.
I can no longer water soils that won't flower.
By that I mean for us to live, we both must give.
And though this is the end, you are still my friend.'

Our world has near 7 billion hearts beating,
Do not fear repeating life's mistakes,
For these stakes are high.
No one gets out alive.

Accept to understand, break to rebuild, succumb to over come.
Begin to become, learn so you're not dumb.
Love everyone so you hate none.
Carry on, for this is the only one.

This one is funny to me because I used it as my POF profile message at one point. It cracks me up...

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Imagine a world beyond belief, everyone has beauty underneath, like that's some sort of relief. Ourselves, under all that skin. How few people we really let in? How few become dear to you? How many slip on through?

I think I think too much, about lovers, and dreamers and such. Ramble on, and on, and on...Until everything is gone. Like Monday making the events of Friday night over discussed. Parental double-standards when their child cussed.

Imagine a comrade, companion, just company. Some manner of moments, made by you and me.

You; that exquisite individual.
Highly metaphysical, a question of the mind,
Rather more about what’s inside?
Where can I find the meaning,
The description of what I’m seeing,
Even when you’re out of sight?
**** is what you do right.
Your clenched fist when you have to fight,
Or a gentle kiss on pained lips.
Sometimes it’s the tongue you bite,
Despite your habit of expressing your thoughts
You also have the insight to see
They’ve already had a cold, hard night.
They’ll apologize in daylight, and
You’ve been there too.
**** is not listening when that *** tells you to shut up,
That ad tells you about your big ****,
or ANYONE dares call you a ****.
You’ve got enough voices
Reminding you of choices,
But you stand satisfied
With modest pride of the life you live.
You’re more than ****.
You are seductive, and desirable,
Astonishing and admirable.
You don’t give a **** about a single thing seen in the magazines
Because when you smile, it’s with every fiber of your being.
And you cry from a soul that’s bleeding.
You never think about how others are seeing you,
You are not here for them.  
Your ends will justify the means to your methods.
You are respected because you respect yourself,
You care like no one else, but still protect yourself.
At times a little too much, you can be hard to touch,
But you’re never out of reach for someone drowning
Off this beach of a life.
You mend miseries, offer sympathies,
Yet never ask for a symphony dedicated
To the things you do for others.
You’re humble, but you have troubles too.
We all do.
Why are you ****?
I appreciate you.

In a land where only rich folk have chins; lived  a man. Ugly and Dim. He was as bright as a flashlight in the afternoon hours. A terrible thing, having thoughts devoured. A drought crossed the land where Ideas once grew now lies a place for neither me nor you. We heard of boy. Quiet wealthy, quiet rich, but deep down a real sonofabitch, who rode ‘gainst the grain and then disappeared. Never to be heard of again.  What a shame to lose the lose the mind of young Ugly and Dim.

I heard a tall tale, or call it a fable; for the lessons quite clear.
It’s a lesson about Ugly and Dim, two brothers in fact who had such an act at the travelling magical show. Dim had the knowledge and Ugly had the looks.
They’d learned their tricks from the book called Don’t Pay Your Dues, and they wound up  all burnt .Except their shoes. Which stood centre stage, where would-be magicians light up in flames, a blaze of ashes.
Such gasps from the crowd as Ugly and Dim began to singe,
and turn crisp and begin to burn, that’s how they fried.
Some soul cried
“I can’t tell if they’re dead or alive!”
As the skin slipped over the skeletal bones
Ugly and Dim were exposed.
Liars and tricksters of illusion will meet an ill-fated conclusion.
Ugly and Dim will see you again, in your moments of moral confusion.

Ugly and Dim; the architects of such modern wonders of
“How things are today!” and “How they oughta be!”
Over 1 million copies of “It’s a you or me mentality!” sold!
Ugly and Dim are ever so bold for the romance  novel: “How Love Gets Old”
Ugly and Dim are you and him,
or her and I, and us  and them.
Sometimes I cry. I’m ugly.
Sometimes I don’t know answers, I’m dim
Sometimes I wake up and I make it through another day.

Thanks Hollywood for riding out from the west, with your slogan six-shooter that’s guilty for the hole in my chest, for making my decision of what's the best bet. You shot art through the heart because it made men outta mice. But my vision kept left, so far it was in the opposite lane when you came round enforcing your reign. It has dodged Dodges, Fords, and all your other brands too, just to weave words from within this wicked n' wild whirl wind where we watch wrecks while fat cats sit back n' get paycheques. So lemme ask, what's next? They'll keep us typing on computers, pressing buttons for nothing. Hunting for faith in a sea full of snakes, and if you ever find some I'll be amazed because I get lost for days in this ****** maze. That's not to say that I stop my pace. Still moving so fast I feel wind on my face, but the breeze is about all I feel nowadays. Cause they shot art through the heart, it was making men outta mice, and what they gave us in trade still filled me with a fiery rage, but those too close got burnt so I learnt to keep it all locked in a cage and if it werent for this ink and this page, then maybe I'd have enough passion to make something change. But they shot art through the heart for making men outta mice, and when they did that they gave everything a price. The only thing left now not slapped with a label is all these free words and what you are able to put together as pieces of poetry, so if Im just one small rock in a world of change, then I must be part of a whole mountain range.

What a tragically human fault,
The wound of our human nature
Doused in a history that’s a burning salt
Tongues drag 'cross the wound to soften the sting
The taste is a foul thing,
savor these poor decisions;
Feel flavour of mistakes, disgrace, dead-dreams and heart-aches. All a waste.
Wastes of wits, dreams, moments, chances, waste of choices,
Voices lost somewhere in evolution, where we drew the conclusion That since we’re superior, all must then be inferior.
Our decision was dominance, not prominence.
We wield wicked weapons of war with pin-point precision.
Laid waste in minutes what it took lifetimes to build,
Disregard the structures, think of the innocence killed.
Blood gets spilled like there's some quota to fill.
And isnt it a lovely day to be a human being?
There's nothing like ****** in the morning,
Or gunfire without warning. Countries still warring
Over a fabric of society long since ripped; torn.
The peace concept is present, but the practice so foreign.
World leaders still ******* their ideals.
None of them know what it feels like to be,
see, or even concern themselves.
They’re empty shells
The beast misstepped during his waltz into the world,
Humans got a kiss from Selfish, then hurled to the curb
Then, alone in rain, decided that's our date.
Making a perfect pair in a world unfair,
That Irate and Anger should copulate with Power and Knowledge
Birthing 7 billion beings none better than the last,
but each boasting birth rights, over shells that tumble from empty chambers.
Isnt it a lovely day to be a human being?