Fear of the past
Is a possession
Of a plague.

©

In this time of peace you start to wonder,
Should I stand in disbelief or just begin to ponder
Have you ever seen the ocean cry,
As you lie on your back and time asks why?
As the trees begin to scream,
“Who are we to blame?”
Yesterday the flowers blossom,
Today they wither and begin to fathom.
The sun drawing nigh to the earth,
Nature goes crazy because of the lost of rebirth.
Natural disasters rampage our lands,
Nature says we destroy them by our hands.
She wars with us, as we war with ourselves.
Killing each other we strive to do,
Mother Nature protects though and tries to renew.
So we battle on her waters and her airs,
Destroying her lands thoughtless, without care.
We war like hurricanes, battle like tornadoes,
**** each other like earthquakes, yet we seem not to know.
Natural disaster we brought on ourselves
Mother Nature is just repeating the wars people placed on themselves.

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To create your own fear
Would be your personal epiphany
Your fatal flaw.

©

Have you ever had a session that gave you an impression,
Then you formed your discretion,
Which then showed your expression, and at the end of the day,
It documented as a depression that formed rejection?
This rejection then formed an infection
In the enzyme in your stomach called pepsin,
That led to an injection, for your safety and protection.
Did I forget to mention, the medication won’t **** it,
Just gives the disease a suspension?

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Fresh air creeps into the room “Voices”.
It’s the dawn of a new day the “Old Man” arises.
Quiet, wrecked, wounded, one may think of him.
His shadow the only peace that really lies within.

One may think he lost it,
His smile wouldn’t show you the pain of that.
That which cause the “Old Man” to flip,
Not the “Voices” though it helps him not to trip.

The tone of each “Key” speaks to his soul
Sooths his horrors that he’s never told.
The man portrays integrity, but he shows neglect.
Have you ever seen an old man that forgets yet?

He’s never forgotten his past though,
Just the present that goes by extremely slow.
To the world he may be perfect,
But to  them he doesn’t show.

The white keys his melody,
The black he strikes for harmony.
To hear the voices that hears his cry,
To those voices he never lies.

He release the pain when the “Voices” speak
To them he retreats,
Mentally, physically, emotionally,
The old man is weak.

His communication distorted by the name he gave himself.
“The Black and White Keys” he uses to cry out for help.
People seem to listen, but them he confuses,
Because the help he abuses.

People don’t seem to please the “Old Man”
Not even a helping hand.
The only thing he turns to at the end of the day,
Are those Black and white Keys  “Voices”.

©

To weak emotionally wounded, its 1 o clock I’m weary,
My iron is low, everything is going contrary.
I stumble out of bed, I’m unable to groan.
My lips are able to move, but my voice is gone.
Vision failing I stagger to into the bathroom,
But I’m able to open up the cabinet.
I see my life flash before me in an instant.
Alcohol not on my agenda right now,
It makes me sick, and leaves a person fowl.
Talk about smoking, I can’t even take when paper burns.
So how does these two relieve me? It’s the least of my concern.
They won’t help me anyway so I’m back to my cabinet.
Which drug should I use this time, should I even be doing this?
Just came out the hospital two months ago for this same reason.
So I close the cabinet, and its glass caught me by the arm.
Now I’m physically wounded, that sure rung off an alarm.
See the cabinet was controlling me, but for this time I controlled Cabinet.
So where should I find my relief, alcohol, smoking or drugs?
Maybe this time I’ll just force myself to sleep.

©

I speak,
About the motives of drugs,
That makes us weak,
That brings all of us the same relief,
That causes humility.
Addicted to, lust, smoking, killing, ***, fighting, drinking?
What about being addicted, to games, a person or pills?
That’s your drug.
Remembering a drug is something we use to lessen the pain,
That causes change in our behavior, and is taken for the effects.
Don’t worry I have my personal highs.
I’m not trying to knock you, but listen to my cry.
The drug becomes an addiction,
One that we love,
It makes us weak and unconscious,
Until it becomes a must,
It controls us, to the point where we need it most.
And we strive to have it at any cause.
When we have it brings the relief that we’re searching for,
But the relief is only temporary.
What if it was taken from us would we go crazy?
It already has, we don’t have to be living on the streets,
For the drug to be dominant in our lives.

©