Thank you lord, that one that is him
for I am  man, one which is born to sin.
still you guide me, and when I need light
you reach in. and set me straight,
your path, I believe in.
this as been a long road, with a deep end
and how i get there, On you I depend
pleased me with this gift,
then gave me the pen so the meaning and can deepen
for people struggling with their life, now we both can reach them.
let them know when they feeling all alone, they really aren’t alone
words are always their searching for a home.

Hiding her guilty habit,
like its something she never had.
As the day just drags,
she takes another long drag.
Inhaling all the good,
exhaling all the bad.
By covering up the hurt,
she's soothing all the sad.
Feeling alone --
the thoughts alone - drive her mad.
forgetting what she is,
wishin for things, she wish she had.
clouds of smoke taint the air,
the smokey scent hangs like a flag.
with every puff she takes --
the closer it brings her to being glad.
forgetting the stress of the moments,
from the long day she just had.
the stress wearing her smile down, like a long gown
that's looking bad
her happy thoughts dissipate
with the smoke no sign of any hope
but its passing like a fad
she puffs, as slowly she smokes
enjoying the moment for the most
its more than just smokes -
it something that dampens the fear
of what is close, next, or near
these cloud skies fill her with hope
long enough for her to not care
when people that should be close,
aren't even near, or even close to being there
all she needs is her pack --
stashed in the back,
to have her back -
until the coast is clear.
and she's back on track.

The old man tempts smoke down
The throat of green beer bottles
From the night before.
Cigarette a tool of precision,
Smoke falls like a lozenge
Until the bottom is occluded; endless.

When viewing art he takes to the moor,
Emergent properties of flocking birds,
Overhead patterns he can understand
Without knowing what it means.
Creation is ongoing, cumulative.
Bone upon bone, centuries of death
To build a monument for living.

The old man paints fissures on the foundations
That cultivate famous skylines,
Smoked windows interrupt sunlight;
No one is looking out for him.
The flocking birds circle the air;
Static black on the page - angry, restless.

When making art he suspends disbelief,
Essence of life locked in time,
No beauty in the fault-lines of a face
If no one has seen it smile.
Empires are falling, unknowing submission-
Tower of Babel, Interstate Highway;
All roads lead to terminal erosion.

The old man bites the skin
Around his weathered fingernails,
Fear is his mantra.
Cigarette a tool for soothing,
Smoke falls like a lozenge,
His hunger is permanent; endless.

The clock strikes one and I am feeling down
By the window and i'm feeling all the pain
But what the hell is wrong with this old town?
It brings me grief and causes such disdain
Through its lonely channels do I walk
Come back each night and take a little time
To contemplate the big ways that I talk
And learn to fall the flipside of a dime
Alterations come and go too fast
Coffee shops and liquor stops they be
In number very few and never last
Short in time they fall to lock and key
The window glistens with my endless sorrow
Have to hope some good will come tomorrow

Darling boy
you are a monster;
  swearing you’d stay  
  when you knew that you’d leave  

Wicked boy
you are a monster;
  ripping breath from their lungs
  and hearts through their teeth

Killer boy
you are a monster;
  dripping blood from your hands
  but you’re losing no sleep

Stupid boy
you are a monster;
  snarling at shadows
  but you smile at me

       *(i know monsters because i am one too)