The cacophony of sounds twisted
And entwined in the metal trees
Shakes my soul as I look to the sodden skyline
I view the last discarded leaves of this placid dimension

A girl walks across the grass
It’s cold out,
About 43 degrees but she lacks shoes
On her tired feet
The black of day collects on the souls of her ragged feet
But it has no effect on her angelic, bohemian outlook
She carries a smile and a switch blade in her pocket
No explanation necessary

Between a rock and a hard place I plant a flower that is my conscious
Simply to watch it grow

The stone pathway, cold against my skin
Creates an aire of direction
Follow the yellow brick road
I seek the wizard but instead-
Find a mirror,
Blistered and fractal
Producing infinite images in my own likeness
A concept of this magnitude is difficult
Much like a human action
In perspective of a fly

Our self proclaimed purpose-
For what, power, money,
Control of the masses
Suppress their minds, diminish their conscious.
The common man deserves better than the plebian life
Of a dog ordered by an invisible master
A shot in the dark,
Who puts forth this motivational bowl of oats?
Bed of hay,
Ring of gold?

I sit and watch
Trying to understand the habits of the world
Every day, the script more blasé and uninteresting than the last

The show created for those who watch,
Whose production value is low.
One must look beyond the projection screen
To understand the man behind the scenes,
The man daring you to dream.

I stop and smell the same lily as yesterday,
Just to denote any change in my world
This lily, my favorite lily,
Lives on, in the grime and muck of
America

If god is all loving and the devil all evil,
Could they be, one in the same
Changing day to day
He too must have mood swings.

As a child you’re told you can be
Anything you want,
Can this be true?
What if you just want to be happy?

Must you step on the fingers of people
Barely holding on
To the edge of the highest peak to climb,
Watch them fall to their own demise?

My happiness stems
From stepping down
And lending a hand,
My success stems from
The success of the flowers in bloom around me,
For I,
Am the fertilizer of the mind

Cremate me,
Spread my ashes in
The woods,
A field,
A lake,
A river,
The oceans grand.
Your person remebered,
Your kindness admired.

Let these blind people
Step on your cold, ***** fingers,
And offer your other hand
As a stepping stool

They may find their happiness
But only for a time
When all is said and done
Can they explain
Their reason or rhyme?
Who they answer to now may not always,
Be there.
But when they too sign up
For the eternal rest
With themselves only
Their cross they shall bare.

The streets I wander
Grow cold with urgency,
Like a gadfly I stand in the way,
Producing images of
Love, and life,
Without deadlines, submission, or oppression.

Nobody listens, but I speak my mind
I dive on the grenade
To safe these
Ungrateful cowards.

Their words
Shallow and dry against my eardrum
I bleed for new meaning
A redefined existence

Change
Cannot be something you wait for
It can never be found,
Only made
This is my change,
My attempt at change.



You may not like what I say,
But at least I try.

I know
One day
I will die
With your best interests in my mouth,
Your knife in my back,
A smile in my eyes,
And happiness
In my heart.

I bleed for the many,
The lost in translation.
My transcendental mindset
Opening my path,
I leave my door open
For those who choose to read.

Fore I know my thoughts are my own,
Whether they have been thought before or not,
I know that I am thinking them now.

The garbled sound of polka music drones on,
In ominous dance.
Something has changed
Maybe tempo or key,
The color rethought
For me, it’s so easy to see
Far more difficult to show.



Awaken yourselves
To the feverish heat
Of wisdom
And accept that
To truly be wise
One must know he cannot know

The sandy coast of endless life
Carries on in the bleak of night
Your hairy eye and jestered hand
Shall curse me no more

I’ve seen the golden ray of dark
Beyond the sun
And opened portals
To greener, sharper, harsher worlds

The stringent silence
Piercing ears and harmful shouts
Have shown me pathways beyond the sun

I’ve opened my eyes simply to glance,
And there was a man,
Tired and beaten
His voice a crusty piece of bread
Left by the children, wasted and old




He asked but a question,
Where are you from?
My reply, wordless and empty,
I think to myself,

Home, home is where I am from.
Where I belong
In the nestle of my childhood blanket.
Scent of me filled with memory, old and discarded.

I wish to return but
Memories oh tasteless, sightless memories
They shall remain.

The man, sitting on a stump of what was an apple tree,
Repeats his timeless question.
I have no reply

Carrying my thought
Through barbed wire fences
I pray to a god that is not mine and
Find a crumbling remnant of a statue
Holding a silver tarnished scepter
With a quote painstakingly engraved into the stone
"All that lives shall perish in due time"




Is this my time my thought moves on.
These worlds I view beyond the golden rays of darkness
Show me that without death
There can never be new life

Oh these sandy coast of infinity
Set me free to a new beginning
But first my work must be complete
In this treacherous world in which
I reside

My family grows hungry for answers
And receive no helping of knowledge
Passed down through the ancient cave writings of
Peoples before
The past is real
But remains a memory
Dusty and forgotten by many

This life a flower past by,
By the masses,
Material goods and swirls of profits.

Your god is not my god,
Your money means nothing
Show me what you truly believe,
Not what the texts of heralds
And documented in secret libraries
And chastised caves have told you
I too shall remain but a memory
Or shall I live on,
This sandy coast of endless life,
Teaching the ways of passage and right.