He wonders in an ascending thunder.

He roams in an aspiring trail,
which excites without fail.
He please's like a contagious disease.

Do you love me, do you hate me?
The little boy used to ask.
A smile in his eyes,
used to confuse
and bemuse.
Some it would anger,
and to some,
it would intrigue.
But,
he knew,
it was only a smile.
Mischief was his game,
adventure his name.
Love in his heart,
to the end from the start.
Till death to him part.

I know the pain you feel is deep,
your want from life is simple peace.
And though I cannot guarantee,
please listen closely, as I speak.

Presently you stroll alone,
searching for a hand to hold.
You feel your sorrow in your bones,
in harshest sun, you still feel cold.

Pre - dawn, however, is darkest night
that must be followed by morning light.
I pray you won't give up the fight,
the universe will set things right.

I know at times, it seems unclear
that happiness is always near.
But wholly I believe my dear,
someday soon, you'll find some cheer.

there is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am---
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.

A word for gratitude is a humble invitation
For a new friendship of thanksgiving
A friendship between a tree and a shepherd
Who stretches himself under its thickness
And between the moon and a passersby
Who finds his way easily in its gleam
A friendship between children and mothers
Who give them birth through hardship
And between you and a clerk
Who sings your papers without charges
A friendship between disciples and a teacher
Who suffers himself to lights their dark mind
A friendship that will live long so long
If soft petals spring from within

Her name was Paris, *** she never had been.
Tattooed wings of an angel, like she never had sinned.
Up and down the pole, the place reeks of Aspen and gin.
But she cant help her love of dollars, so shes keeping the grin.

Her and I, are more similar than different.

she undresses on the stage,
I undress with my soul.
she moves her body to the music,
I move the pen with the flow.

We both ain't getting rich of it ,
But the stage is like a rhythm its hard to stay off...


-afj