You hold that glass with an iron grip
as you let the magic pass your lips.
You turn and bend
to the fickle wind
How time shapes your ego trips.

You take and take for all you're worth;
each moment filled with wine and mirth;
the bloom of the rose
draws to a close;
Withhold some time to spit and curse.

It's funny how one soon forgets
the player who always struts and frets
there on the stage
the drama's rage
You double down; you've hedged your bets.

So here you go and there you are
you've seen some sights and traveled far
Don't hesitate
to punctuate
between the fresh wound and the scar.

Here now rest your weary head
and sleep dreamless on your bed
and then incline
yourself to wine
and live your life until you're dead.

Dust dancing on rays of morning light;
she and I, and coffee flavored love.
The silence between the words was heavy
with an undertone of doubt.
Something she was hesitant to say
was fighting it's way from mind to mouth.
lovely lips parted to a broken sound
that became words- that became a eulogy
"I do not want a man who writes poetry"
she said, and sighed a long grasp for words
"I want a man who fights and sweats imported whiskey;
I want a man with diamond teeth and scars that tell a story.
I want a man who can juggle twelve running chainsaws
while riding on a unicycle."
Her wet and downcast eyes were blind,
and struggling with her troubled mind,
she did not see that I took the hint 5 minutes ago.
she didn't see that I had left;
because I am a man who writes poetry.

Seizing the sky to milk it's ink
calling aloud to a forbidden god
I try to fly but tend to sink
naive and broken in mediocre sod
Too many prisons have I fled
in tattered remnants of freedom lost
leaving the gold that laboriously bled
lustfully I lift the dross
astonished by my self made plight
through wastefulness and disregard
ever nearer comes the night.

four sweet smiling babies on the front page of the paper;
four sweet little lives that are no more.
My throat is tight My hands are clenched My heart is broken.
My eyes flood as my knees hit the floor.
How in the hell could there even be an explanation?
Could the white dope really bring a man so low?
the pretty lady on the TV says it's a complicated situation
and a bunch of other crap that I don't want to know.
Held in the arms they loved and trusted;
Thrown some eighty feet into the bay.
I'm bitter, disillusioned, and disgusted;
and I'm not the only one who feels that way.

My God it's so **** hard to keep believing.
Is this the way you really meant for it to be?
It's getting dark - a half an hour past grieving-
Lets have a heart to heart, just you and me.
I've found this ******* book of contradictions;
Though I like what the red letters have to say.
I hope I have the strength of my convictions,
but what the hell is free will anyway?

It's easy now to believe in the devil.
It's good to have some where to put the blame,
but I can't keep from thinking we're the trouble;
If we don't own up, How can we ever change?
I want to know if you're tight with the preacher
Who tells us about peace and love and hell?
Have you got some connection with the teacher
who teaches us just how to hate and ****?

This here geopolitical situation
is a little more than greedy cold and hard.
What's all this talk about hell and damnation?
There's plenty of that right here in my back yard;
where four sweet smiling babies are on the front page of the paper
three so far have washed up on the shore.
I guess there must be hell fire and damnation
Cause there just has to be a heaven for those four.

Illusive muse
Where did you go
How long must I linger this time
Cruel sweet Mother of Songs
The wide eyed child poet waits
somewhere in a closet
behind the skeletons
behind the guilt
where confidence was spiders silk
and glistened with geometric truth
The muses danced around me
holding candles
they were dressed in primary colors
they moved the pen
again and again and opened doors of ink
One by one they moved on
each waving goodbye as she danced away
Now I grasp at abstract straws
I milk the thick and drying sap
from strained memories

What was once a labor of love
now struggles to be a love of labor
I stare blank into a starving white sea

Lifeless life sits on the shelf
where dreams and schemes and knowledge dwell
to provide some respite for ones self
a billion squared of stories to tell
Kings and kingdoms are well involved
there are secrets revealed and problems solved
Man and woman and kith and kin
find the time to look within
the lifeless life upon the shelf
where dreams and schemes and knowledge dwell

I saw a burning soldier in the sand
I couldn't tell if he was friend or foe
I just stood and watched him burn
my heart and mind accustomed though
to what would make the state side stomach churn
Mothers holding children charred black or sometimes white
faces frozen forever pain and fright
I curse the day my heart grew hard
I still and will obey
I took the oath I raised my hand
I saw a burning soldier in the sand
I hoped he had found peace and turned to walk away