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...

----
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?

We walk; weighted across the brittle back of the world.
Somewhere between the dirt that is dust in the air,
And footprints that linger longer that our shadows at dusk
A story is being unfurled.
A story of a seed that was you and me,
Birthed, born beautifully,
Yet still flawed from fertility
The Fates shake when they paint pictures of predictions
We've always perceived as non-fiction
But in fact; it's our mission
to imagine and dream.
Build upon what we've already been,
To become what we're meant to be.
Come see the cosmos of collected consciousness
That creates an individuals mind body and soul.
This is your tale so tell me how it's told.
Are you burdened with baggage that came like a birth-right?
Are you angry n' hostile, every day dawns like a fist fight,
Where you fight only yourself?
Struggle, smothered by material wealth,
Lost in the dark n' crying for help?
That's all of us. That's everyone.
Eerily it resembles my own,
We're all a stitch in fabric sewn
of family, friends and lovers,
strangers, enemies and others.
We’re all a rip in the fabric too
Torn out from within ourselves
Leaving a hole the size of confusion.
And we’ll never patch it up.
It’s part of who we are.
Flawed from fertility
But birthed, born beautifully…

This world runs on ones and zeroes,
Decorated by  smoke n' mirrors,
Mirrors; reflecting the hopes and fears.
Smoke; that’s the obstacles, obstruction, the obtrusion.
The tools used by self-destruction, self-delusion.
A reminder; this body is mine,
This temple is built just fine.
But all construction ends in due time.
At the number we expire
So for the moment I do what I **** well want, please or desire.
Cause I love to play with fire.
Know nothing that gets me higher.
It's not even the way it looks or dances,
Im possessed by the touch, that feel,
The heat of chances, the burn of bad luck
And
The blisters that remind me that I heal.
He said that’s what people do,
We go off, on, off, on until the end of infinity,
Just like the two digits repeating.
Zero and one,  whole and none.
Told me binary defined entirety
But numbers don’t reside inside of me.
Like anyone else I’ve just got the message, the virus, the word
It’s been spoken, spat and spun
Rarely is it caught, got or heard.
But I figured out why, he said figures fill up the skies
When I looked up and why did I spy with my little eye?
Each night I see less star light
I remembered;
Stars light, Stars bright, first star I see tonight,
I wish I may I wish I might
Have the wish I wished that night,
The will to fight, the means to win
Give me childhood all over again,
So I can make the same mistakes twice,
Given the chance I’d make ‘em a third and a forth
Everytime I scratch I increase in worth.
Though only given one birth,
One chance to play with flames like they’re stars ablaze
Before zero; the end of time,
Even the magic held by that nursery rhyme
Cant match the reason, time presses on and
That moment between is all we’re given
And at some points you’ll think you’re doing it wrong,
Listen when I say carry on.
Because even if the world can be represented
by the two numbers he presented,
Time spent playing with fire is never regretted
You don’t forget it.

When she entered the room, it was the same way a song gets stuck in your head.
Dressed like a new born nebula, blooming from a blossom few saw flourish.
She wore a gown the hue of Heart-Break and Deepest Desire.
It looked a lot like Comfortable Misery.
The same Comfortable Misery she slid over her skin, day out, day in.
But the rhythm to which she moved was Romance.
She looked like every valentine card ever bought but never sent, lost chance.
She never had a secret admirer, only the secrets.
Never sent is never seen but if you could’ve known what it would've been if she'd been able to dance barefoot without stepping on shards of her broken heart.
Each piece a jagged reminder of another side-winder hidden in the sands of days gone by.
She promised herself just one night she wont cry, one night that she'll close her eyes and finally realize
She's beautiful.
Realize that she's spinning to the music played by Dreams and dancing in the darkness of Destiny is all she’ll ever need.
If she slow danced to one more moment, she can preserve it, hold it,
until the times when she forgets how much she meant to me.
She'll remember the song, and the grace, bringing her back to this time and place
where she wears her features and flaws like medals and scars.
Some she'll tell you about while she weaves her words 'round you, holding you close in a story that makes you want to rewrite your own tale;
Triumph or fail.
Others, she wont tell.
The memory itself hurts like hell, so if just the thought of sharing is scaring her to the bone.
You’ll never hear about the girl you’ve never known.
She doesnt want to dance alone.
But that’s all there is,
a tiny dance floor called Life to call her own.
Nothing less and nothing more,
So she makes her hips sway,
Taking your eyes away from Ideas to Feelings,
She’s erratic, not ****** in her motion,
She makes Love feel like a puddle compared to an ocean.
And she just doesn’t want to dance alone anymore,
Yet she’s left like tears again on a cold stone floor
In the dark basement she calls existence.
And in this instance, she needs to see sunlight,
to see a sun that’s up at dawn every day and only dims at dusk,
Because for all things rest is a must.
So for a few quick steps we tripped the light fantastic,
and she did not dance alone.
She had a throne fit for the queen she is,
She was held through the night while tears trailed down her cheeks,
While she said that she never wanted to weep,
Because it made her feel so weak.
It’s like the tears trickled from her soul,
Draining her before her story had ever been told,
Before her flesh grew old and her hairs turned grey,
Before she felt she’d truly really had a good day.
But then she smiled,
And she said so sweetly that,
No matter how neatly she’d try to put the world into white and black,
She always had that one strange night she could come back, where her confusion calmed
To little more than a breeze she felt tickle across her heart.
And all it took was that one
slow
dance
That kept her world from falling apart.