Tomorrow's rush of craziness
leaves today's feeling sane.

We face the repetitive waves-
Thus, is this our day?

We all find ourselves along these roads-
the mental shorelines of time.

Behold our subtle conscience,
our infiltration of rhyme.

For the early morning's majesty
will wake the setting sun

and while the clouds will blanket the moon
I know we all are one.

The laughter, the love and the high-
Our cries filled with tears lost of joy-

These are words from another place-
Truth's beauty whose thoughts could employ.

A cackle of coughs produce sickening echo.
I stand in a line for my morning's scapegoat.
But my relevant thoughts are still absent on trial-
so i think I might just sit here awhile.

I am told to get out is rare in itself,
let alone cleared as a new harmless self.
But my relevant thoughts are still absent on trial-
so I think I might just sit here awhile.

Oh my children, my children, so wonderful and great.
It sure was nice of them to send me away,
but now I believe they expect me home soon.
They need washing up before dinner at noon.

I try to open my hotel room door
but the nurse says "Sit down! You can't leave this floor!"
"But Nurse!" I scream, "My kids need me soon!
They need washing up before dinner at noon!"

The nurse sighs, "Oh Patrick, you murdered your sons.
You're delirious, befuddled, in a hospital for nuts."
So I sit down...I need to...at least for awhile.
I must recollect my memory's past trials

I remember their screams and the blood on my hands,
the knife on the ground and their souls newly cleansed.
I remember so vividly now the truth to my trials
so i think it best to just sit here awhile.

But it won't be long now before dinner at noon.
And I know that my children will expect me home soon.

Waking up next to a beautiful girl,
and falling for the wonders of this beautiful world,
the poetry in the trees let the sun in my hair
and the ever-fluid music hung like honey in the air.

I remember a day at the fair with my brother.
We loaded up on acid and we smiled at eachother.
We looked upon the city knowing life was alright,
because what's mine is his and what's his is mine.

See I do have times when life feels so right
and when I get old and day turns to night,
I'll look back when I was young and had the feeling I was free,
learning new places with my own two feet.

When sometimes in life I fall I gotta get back up,
and sometimes in life I'll fail but it's just bad luck,
But when I'm down and out and the times get tough
I'll remember that the weight of the world is love.

...

I always thought a lot about life and love
with attributes to cosmos and mindful stuff.
But since I quit drugs I've forgotten of the simple
things to become a righteous one.

A sightless son, blinded by the colors
that I used to know; they slowly seemed to fade
as I began to grow so old.

And where'd it go?
My childhood's smile I want it back-
the days on the playground playing tag,
when I could go to school and still take a nap,
I miss that.

And if I miss that, then will I miss this?
I mean I'm eighteen I'm still kind of a kid.
I can almost get by without having a job
and I still enjoy writing simple lyrics to a song.

And I may be wrong, maybe missing the point,
but I can get a hit of high from other hooks than a joint.
It was all so simple when I had **** to turn to
but now I'm not allowed to **** around so much.

If I do I'll end up back inside of a cell.

And next time my parents won't offer any help.
The law's gonna throw me back to the wolves
and I'll be with nobody but me and myself.

I thought a lot about it, and how I'd grown
into some stranger that I've never known.
A lonely kid gone lost from the start,
a savage beast with no love in his heart.

I smelled like smoke
plus a coke stained nose,
but that's not how the ending
to this story goes.
I still got **** to do
and new friends to meet.
Gotta find out about a different side of me.

I scream at the top of my lungs
out and across vast, honey-wheat plains.

A cool morning breeze hugs my barren body-
and its chills seem to ask the wind, "Is this indecision?
If I need be tentative, do I in turn hideaway my courage?"
An unsure finish leads me to hesitation.

Yet, ecstatic excitement and the thrill of possibility
lay a soft kiss upon the supple lips of opportunity.

And I know now that it is my time to run-
with arms wide open as the sun shines upon my face
and the wind whispers into my ear, feelings of a quintescent
energy so fluid and real beg to rip apart my rib cage and pour
the soul of my heart onto the begging and thirsty soil beneath my bare feet.

Sensational unknowing, how can my soul catapult into such a terrific nothingness!
And to have this terrific nothingness accept my soul!
I do not know whether I should be screaming with laughter or tearing down my cheeks in streams.

I need not halt at failure!
Or do I?
A projection of delusions lead me to a certain insanity.

Do i dare decide for myself the precise moment in time
in which it is a must for me to fall victim to the ordinary?
For the white-walled normalities of life
seem to be enclosing around my very thoughts.

Corruption belittles me as well as others,
and I know that I now must settle down-
and serve for the greater good.

But time can lead the mind to wander-
and every once in awhile I find myself pondering
beautiful rebellion.

But I must not think that way, for age and society
have conspired in clipping my wings, and to think freedom
is to play along to a forgotten game that was played during a forgotten age.

Oh hollowed life, long corrupted and conformed world, how dare you toil with the understanding of space and time?

I fall to my knees with my face buried in my hands.
Genuine madness and excitement, is your absence permanent?
Must this last forever?
The sun is setting now and I realize that my hope should have remained
never.
And I scream at the top of my lungs out and across spacious honey-wheat plains.

I, so young, fruitful, and high
on the extravagance of life
spot the funkiest electric travelling
beat coming into sight.

The man approaches, asking me to
come and take a walk.
But to strangers I simply
tell this man I'm not supposed to talk.

The man says kind-like smiling all wide,
"I'm a stranger than who? A stranger than you?"
Slyly replies the stranger than I.

"And so you say that I may be strange
for my tophat and clothes have such colorful range.
But if these threads force you to think such a way
just look upon my beard growing so long and gray.
And just because you do not know me, it doesn't mean
that you should "no" me."

"Perhaps your are right," I say with delight.
"From what my eyes can see you are quite alright.
The strange is no more, not for you nor for I.
For my name's McGovern, McGovern's Pollite."

"It's so nice to meet you once stubborn McGovern!
I was born with the title Sicillian Summer!
But for short call me Summer, I go by no other.
Now let us adventure my newly made brother."

And off we went 'round the world and afar.
From Orion's belt straight towards the North Star.
The great majesty's sea pulled us out with its tide.
Thus, Summer and I were a universe alike.

But Time's Father's old ticker struck at such great speed
that Summer was old now and I was displeased.
For I did not want Sicillian to leave,
but my great misfortune was Summer's last need.

"Why wary McGovern, my grown younger brother?
I've shown you the way of Sicillian Summer!
My time has run out for what times's worth I wonder.
But don't you cry now, once stubborn McGovern.

Here is a token, a keepsake for you.
My tophat is yours for my life is now through,
wear it while jumping from the planets to the moons,
and all other moments, your life's lovely tunes."


...



Summer is gone now and I walk down a road.
Top hat tight on, bearing colorful clothes.
A young boy sees me from a ways up the road
and I can't help but feel for his being alone.

I approach the boy asking if he'd like to take a walk.
But to strangers the boy tells me he is not supposed to talk.

I can't help but wonder am I a stranger than he?
Surely he is not a stranger than me!

Her legs hang low,
just above the night's whispering tide,
illuminated only by dawn's dim light.
Polar limbs and the nonlinear confide.
She does not hide. No, not on this night.

Her outstretched arms
question the supposed limitless oblivion.
For foot by mile, lightyear by revolution,
she has seen everything:

Loves enactment upon re-enactment,
The crying of the lost and lonely infant,
the rodent's of the night that creep and crawl along
a city's cobblestone streets,
and she has seen two worlds fall asleep
time and time again.

The moon has already heard forever
yet each night she listens to a different tune.

The moon is forever.
The light and the wise coccoon.

Holding hands with the sun
and all of these infant flames that
I love.

But don't let me wander off and wonder why we're all the same.

With an opening of the eyes of the child inside
our conscience will go where we fear the most.


Yet stuttering none but shouting loud,
a rowdy multi-colored crowd,
we sing, we dance and romp around.
With love we hug this newfound sound.

And play we may, but fun we must,
for yesterday's tomorrow is time for us.