Backstreet, open doors,
Small town, empty pockets for the poor:
That's where they go
When they linger on the last shred of hope;
Only flying toward a blank journal page
When the writer's have lost all passion in their artistic haze.

Closed minds, wings that were not meant to soar,
Tired eyes, broken hearts falling to the floor:
That's where they go
While they ingest sorrow on a withering soul
And they march on weary feet
To a battlefield drenched in defeat.

Puffy faces, starving stomachs demanding more,
Feeding hatred, love dying like never before:
That's where they go
As the wind blows
To a place of shattered picture frames
And tombstones carved with their names.

But, where do they go
When the judgment begins to *****
And they're left on the last shred of hope?

Peace never seems to know my name.
Hatred never seems to escape my heart.
It’s these things that people blame
When their worlds are falling apart.

Life is so strange as an experience;
Within itself there is always something new.
A medallion to behold
Or someone as precious as you.

No one can take away what you feel
Or invalidate every single one of your thoughts.
What you say is just as real
As every penny in the fountain caught.

Serenity only comes once in a lifetime.
Choose and pick your battles wisely.
Be who you want to be
And make sure you fully live your life.

Lay under the stars with a lover, talking about the meaning of life.
2. Take one risk that may lead to regret, but you’ll at least have a story to tell your children.
3. Fall in love with the wrong person, at least you’ll have learned.
4. Drive along a dirt road after midnight, inhaling the country air and appreciating for just one moment that technology has not yet reached this part of the earth.
5. Go swimming in a lake with nothing but your skin and the sand between your toes.
6. Play your music so loud on a warm summer night that your neighbors scream for you to turn it off.
7. Ride on one upside-down rollercoaster after just eating cotton candy and popcorn.
8. Dye your hair one crazy color and watch it fade, because any color is better than black and white.
9. Stay out until four o’clock in the morning in your friend’s car, hanging your head out of the window and just living.
10. Make memories that will cause a serious case of nostalgia when you’re old and withering from the soft caress of time.

When we are born, we are born with fire
Dancing in our souls like madmen,
Feasting on our every desire
And granting every wish you could imagine.

So many times we are told to keep our fire safe.
Don’t let it crackle and waste.
But, what if you do just that?
The light from your world will turn to black
And the fire you now need but took for granted will never come back.

The number of tears you’ve cried will put it out
And the dying sparks will fly about.
Nothing will be left but shattered parts
Of a broken soul wishing to restart.

Save every moment you have alive.
Good ones, bad ones, even “okay” ones will suffice.
Just promise my old and lonely heart
That you won’t reduce yourself to embers dancing in the dark.

A dawn begins―a
New era erupted inside
An unsalvageable territory
That once stood towering
And proud.

They were Americans,
Mocking the face of
Danger,
Not creating it.

They were Americans,
Powerful and free,
But who are now
Prisoners to                                                               ­                         
Temptation and greed.

What shall become of
Them?
Shall their souls
Be sold to
The devil,
Masquerading as promise?

Fools they all are―
Cowering behind their
Flag and their
Anthem,
Using them as a
Definition of a
True American.

They were victorious,  
Glorified in the
Eyes of war and
Violence―battled
Between peace
And harmony.

The freedom fell
In bereft
Ruins,
Abolishing the pride
And glory of a
Once great nation.

They were Americans,
Humble and kind.                                                        ­                               
Now they’re waiting
For the sun to rise
And rid the country
Of immorality.

They were Americans
And now they’re
Just empty shells
Living in the shadows
Of a once great
Nation.

You see, they were Americans.

The man in rags asked, “Do you have a cigarette to spare?
I have eight cents to my name,
Broke from gambling away with Life’s little game.”
Man in rags, in this life, no one’s going to care.

The people you’ll meet will tear you down
And temptation will fire up real quick.
Man in rags wandering the town,
Don’t burn to ashes like an eighty cent cigarette.

A fading tin cup fills the empty spaces,
But, not a soulless shell of a man.
Don’t beg in front of unfamiliar faces
Because the greatest pleasures won’t drop in the palm of your hand.

Not everything works out the way we’d like,
And sadly, cigarettes don’t fall from the sky.
Lessons come and they go.
Yet, your lack of eighty cents is starting to show.

It has always amazed me how
No one knows the time
They’re supposed
To go.

They only saunter and
Roam like they
Always have―hoping
That there will be
One more day
They’ll get to do
The things they wanted
To do yesterday.

Not everyone has the pleasure
Of living before fading
Into another
Soul in the sky,
They only exist before
Life call’s them by their
Name and takes them
By the hand.

Only, what will they do
If they earn their
Angel wings too
Soon?