Pre-contemplation and cutting our teeth
On reading our books and ignoring our needs
A jest about pain, a joke about sadness
Driven by knowledge is driving to madness
Never accepting the reality
Of losing our grip to our insanity

To what end, then, will this duty be done?
The passion and skill of a tireless free will
Answers daily duties from dusk until dawn.
Wandering freely, the soul cries for life
Oh the conflicting spare moments resisting
The insatiable urge for waning and wine

To the revolution I say "fare the well"
For I, an unbiased soldier,
Could not give brood such as this any food
Or fodder to feed or console her.
I'll accept the fate of a life out-of-reach,
Never to find or accrue
Neither faith nor fame nor money, but pain;
For all I desire is truth.

1)
Here in the dark where rules don't exist
Gravity slips my wrist to your hips
And your kiss like Soma lay burned on my lips
Sudden a slight, subtle physical gesture
So foreign to think of it - only conjecture
Alluring, your posture bent into mine first

2)
Unable to think, unable to breathe
Unable to reason rational reasons for such indulgence
So known was he to penitence
So unknown was this dream
And that, it was a dream
Cortisol surging, testosterone flowing, epinephrine...surely would split his mind at the seam, and end this cruel romantic dream

3)
Soma to touch her
Soma to feel her
Nothing to know, and none left to sow
Soma to see her
Soma to hear her
When won't it last? When will it go?
Soma to think
Soma to dream
Forever unknowing
Forever I'll be

Just there -- I can nearly see it
Light from where they lie
Suddenly the talking stops
--trembling hands; quiet breath--
Let out the silent sigh

The price of freedom is eternal vigilance
Have you lost the ability to see?
You look for another to give you some cover
My, I wonder who that will be.

I just wasn't made for these times
I wasn't made, molded, borrowed or bought
I don't consider the feelings of others
And I don't walk on these shells fraught with sentimental prejudice

Do you want to hear something?
Do you want to hear the truth?
Whose truth is truer than you and your toothless troupe?
Your spineless surrogates.
Your fangs are gone and your signs are up.
If that be the truth, then I be in cuffs.

I just wasn't made for these times
A jest is a stab and a stab a statistic
Whose stats stack the stabbings of someone's jest
If none of the cameras cover it?

I don't care about you, and that's how it should be.
Why in the throes of wrought liberty shall we concede?
Why in the hour at hand, with all on the line...
I just wasn't made for these times.

The slang, the eyes, the songs
******* on my life
I don't need to express myself
I need a ******* wife

Stealing another ****** moment - her eyes were watching
All of his movements till she had to have - his body dripping
Melting over all the other flaming pools will do it to you too
"How do you do?"

Acetylcholine failing, blaming it on ethanol
Despite a dehydrogenase, he's bounding for the fall
Cold, scared, and dying on a billowy soft cloud and out
She takes his body to sleep the first time he was weak

I have no friends - I have no wife;
An ogre in a bog.
I have no love - I have no life;
But ****** I've got a dog.

I've been hoping for months
Hoping for years
Hoping I might forget

Oh, but it don't get much dumber
It don't get much dumber
Than trying to forget a girl when you love her

I mustn't fear;
I must always be brave,
For the way I treat the world
Will save the world some day.

I saw a goose alone in a pond;
The morning fog settled 'round him.
One more night survived on his own
The promise of dawn ever so dim.

A lame wing was his wicked ailment;
Forever stuck in this place.
Unable to fly with the flock he so loved,
But a different story told on his face.

A stern embrace of his abnormality
Gave him the look of a royal Swan.
Not fearing the lonely life of an outcast,
But sanguine with each new dawn.

Though I did not know you well
Or watch your stand-up routine,
You posed to me life's greatest question,
"What will your verse be?"

The insatiable urge for living free
Flows strongly through my brain.
Others sit idly by,
While I sit through the pain

Of this trite and shallow routine.
I cannot be bothered with this.
The test of my will and perseverance
Will never feel the bliss

That others accept as having made-it;
Accepting the facts of life.
Instead I choose to seek adventure
If I must be a martyr till it is rife.

Narcolepsy's a funny thing
A disease but sometimes a cure.
For only when I'm in my dreams
Do I ever get to see her.

It warms my heart to know
That though WE could never be,
You'll keep staring up at the stars
On this lonely planet, with me.

To the only one I wrote songs for,
And still do to this day.
To the only one I wrote poetry for,
On whom I fix my poetic gaze.
To the only one who watched the stars,
With my arm in your embrace.
To the only one I've ever really wanted;
The only one I've ever chased.
This one goes out to the one...

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes,
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts
With my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!

All he was saying was give peace a chance
But that was a lofty dream.
John Lennon died defending a cause;
He didn't let out a scream.

He didn't need to kick and cry
Or send his armies to attack.
He took the hate and felt the pain
But without a tear in his eye.

In the midst of the violent crime that day
Peace was the only winner.
God was there with John at that place
Taking some burden from us sinners.

Many have come in the name of peace,
As prophets of God's desire,
And we will never see the truth
Because everyone else is a liar.

Don't force a rhyme;
Its better to let it flow.
Don't poison the passion
With false seeds you sow.
Don't become a poet
To take advantage of frail souls.
Don't spread your foul heartbreak
For whom the bell tolls.

The boy was fourteen,
What did you expect?
His thoughts in the clouds
But mainly on ***.

When life seemed to be
Falling apart at the hinge,
He grasped for some direction
If just to feel the fringe

Of a way that would set him free.
Free from the fallacy he knew.
His friends all a lie,
Not a one he called true.

As if by divine intervention
A passage shown through.
He found a place called Walden Pond;
Ralph & Walt there too.

"O' Captian, my Captain
My life to you I truly owe.
For mine was but defined by the world
Til my sense of self, you bestowed."

The boy was of himself;
The world left not a trace.
He was ready to learn of poets and scholars,
But then he saw her face.

I saw the morning dew betwixt thine thighs
As I removed my source of Grecian power
As if King Midas dared to touch the skies
Upon thy body fell a *******

Thy body's temples, two church bells had rung
Upon thy chest, a row of pearls bestowed
The sun had set, thy set with wary hung
I thought, "How black a night and blue a lode"

I said, "What light through yonder ****** breaks?
It is the yeast"

And now my belly's yellow
My pole gives cause to storms and earthy quakes
But 'tis not massive, I am no Othello

And when that final moment came to pass
Like Christ I came-a riding on an ***

I am happy. I am free.
I am unlatched from society.
I know not the wanton way,
Nor the guile and greed of money.

I use paper and coin
To bring happiness to my brothers,
Not to build my own fortress
And recluse from all others.

Money, in good hands,
Brings joy to the poor.
A rich man, with no sense of the world,
Only ever desires more.

Come nigh my friends
And sound your barbaric yawp!
This world is ripe for the taking.

Speak light and gay.
There's no time for mourning
Or depressed poems in the making.

Heavy hearts find comfort in verse;
Relying on strife for the feel to fit.
But I see too much beauty in the world
And my poems dare to reflect it.

The roots of a tree can be seen in my veins
And as sure as I walk this Earth,
I am a part of it.

My eye in the sky, as the moon shines at night;
My body in the soil feeding the world the good of the Earth.
I am a part of it.

It seems as though I have the disease;
A vile virus of the mind.
To think that I would speak of freedom
And silly non-sense of the kind.

"Of course this is the way of the world!
God's pure and true intention.
You are of the wild sort..."
Like I'm some wild, untamed invention

Of the radicals of the world.
Lend your ear; give me light
That I will be taken as an intellect
Who's word is vital to life.

Love was not destined to grace my life.
Love of another, that is, not of the world
And the reasons lie in the views of my mind.
For a secular suitor has no appeal of mine.

How could I love another person,
When none of the lovers love me?
I'm in and of myself and treat my body to great wealth.
Their wants above needs. Their possessions above health.

There's no room in my world for people like this;
Drowning their sorrows in a sugary bliss.

The girl with starlight in her eyes,
Alone on a grassy hill,
Falls not for my foolish, poor attempts
To spin my words - to do my will.

How could a poet like me,
So opulent and fluent with rhyme,
Bear the heart of the lonely sort
And grief-stricken out of mind.

These words that flow like honey
Seem not to attract the sweetest of teeth.
But instead appease my troubled soul
And leave my aspirations bleak.

I went to the place where I once lived a life,
On the rocky shores of that beloved river.
No shouts or laughs are heard there now;
I couldn't hear a whisper.

I sat 'round that old forgotten place,
Last light of my childhood - reaching its ends,
Wondering what happened to my home
And the trees I used to call friends.

1
This world is not for me.
Society and all of its greed
And pride and fears and lies,
But I see - the Fields of green.

I see the forest beyond culture's smog.
I see rivers and meadows and in them I see God,
Not society's idols corrupting my mind,
But beauty in nature, for people I have no time

2
I don't hate man, I just hate men.
I reject the crowd, receive the critics
And then, when I can, I plan
To change their lives, to change their stance.
Their pre-contemplating outlook of meta-physical well-being will be
Their posthumous regret when the trumpets sound early.
They cannot possibly want to die this surely.

So why wait, why bother, why help those who ridicule the very foundation of existence?
For better or worse, I ask myself this
And demand an answer; demand a reply.
But to answer myself this would just be a lie,
Because in the end I just can't see myself here.
Down in the underbelly while God's world is out there.
Man was meant to live and love and learn and laugh and lavish in the dirt;
YES! The wondrous Earthen soil that brings life to this otherwise wasteland of a planet!
Do I sound crazy? Fine then. I'll can-it...
But let me leave you with this.

3**
While you squander your existence, I'm flying with J.L. Seagull.
While you sit on society's thrown, you'll never reach my level of regal,
For I am king of myself, I relish in happiness
I **** the marrow out of life and think not of shame or pride or possession or power
And therefore I must leave.
I wish you all the best of luck and hope some of you learn,
That you are just playing your fiddle and watching Rome burn.

I sing, I dance, I lavish in sound,
I know what matters in this life,
For happiness is my only love,
And music is my wife.

I speak to you on this, the first day of the rest of my life.
Scores of men have said it before,
But never so true as it is said before you now
For I hereby take the pledge, the oath, the honor - of a man among trees