In the land of kings I am a king! In the land of princes I am a prince! In the land of rain I look heavenward that these tears could be rinsed, and thus hidden from view. Thus Hidden from you. You who may see, that in any land I stand alone, a man apart with a fractured heart that beats unevenly, yet carries me through....And if you have to ask, yes I wear this mask, this among others to cover self doubt that bears no answers. As if it were formed of a cancer, that eats at my mind, twisting inside at a maddening pace. Stripping away my imagination, my lonely hiding place. Devouring all but the bad taste of reality; which to face constantly seems a must. Sheltered no more by my broken cage as the bars scale with rust. Trust that I am nothing more than this dust, kissed of gods and breathed life to betray. Burdened of sin again and again under the guise of false pride to ride on these pale winds of turmoil and blame. In the end it's all the same, the details may change but the story remains. Buried in a garden of shame where we have all planted our daisies and prayed for the clouds to deliver the pain.

Close my mouth and cover the truth from my eyes, hide your razor teeth behind grinning lips. Crack the liar's smile and walk on for miles in false innocence. Across the backs of fallen kings and heros who failed you, unseen. The lions of yesterday who bled for you where you tread uncaring in your timeless beauty...

If I could reach out and touch you from a million miles away, I would caress your cheek and you would know how much I miss you. But since I can’t do such an impossible thing, I’ll have to pick up the phone and give you a ring and my touch will be transferred instead to my voice, the words “I love you” will be my caress of choice.

I stared out over the field of wild grass as it lay before me
Untamed and swaying in the breeze.

I thought about each individual blade slicing the air
Each flower upon its stem
Defiant
Bending…but never breaking

And in that time, seated upon my grassy knoll, I understood
These were my thoughts of you
As numerous and defiant as the grass of the field

As untamed

Running together in a blur and standing in the fore front of my conscious endeavors
Washing over me in a breeze

Bending me… but leaving me unbroken.

I was feeling a little lost so I started looking for myself, I checked under all the couch cushions and behind the books high on the shelf. I even checked the laundry and behind the draperies, but I came up empty handed, it seemed it wasn’t meant to be.

I couldn’t be found anywhere, at least anywhere that I could see, but I knew that I would soon find out, I had too eventually. When my persistence paid off, then just maybe, if I kept looking there I would surely be, I had to be around somewhere, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t remember what I had really done with me.

I retraced all my steps so I could try to see, if I could find a clue or catch a glimpse of me. At least a little something, so I could have some peace of mind, but I didn’t give up looking, because I knew that in my mind, I had to pop up somewhere, I would, it was just a matter of time.

I knew it was important too, the me that I had lost, I knew that it was something that to me was beyond cost. So I scoured the whole house, from top to bottom, looking for what was mine, and wouldn’t you know it…of all the places…I was right here the whole time.

I beheld terrible sights of horrifying things; with frightened eyes I saw the dragonflies, soaring on their brittle, burning wings. They came from the darker places of the rivers of screaming faces that branched out into mazes, of smaller ****** streams. The banks of the streams still smelled and steamed and were lined with the cast off crowns of kings, their fallen skulls among these golden things and still there were other, more sinister beings, beings that froze me cold and made me shake as they appeared to me in the shape of snakes, with teeth like sharpened iron stakes, that seemed to drip and gnash and gleam. Oh how they moved so menacing, slithering through their venomous oily sheen, with knife like tongues that cut so clean, all images of things that cannot be unseen. They were weaving about, in and out, and between, surging wildly, like an ocean of green, and no matter where I would stand, I was just a mortal man, in a place where safety was an intangible thing. I was losing my mind, about to scream, these detestable sights that were so vivid and keen, my sanity was frayed, bursting at the seams, but then I opened my eyes and awoke from my dream.

She couldn’t take the pain so she popped another pill, the small relief compounded thus to override her will. And as he walked away she cried and popped another pill, she felt so alone again that she popped another pill. She sat in that lonely room for days, and on the window sill, was another whole **** bottle so she popped another pill. Her friends began to worry so and asked if she was ill, she lied and said “of course not” then she popped another pill. Her days were made of chewing them then swallowing and still, it wasn’t enough to ease the pain so she popped another pill. I should have taken action but instead I just stood still, so as her life began to fade I popped another pill. After time she passed away and was buried on the hill, still dressed in black I cried for days and popped another pill. I never took the chance to tell her how I really feel, but now she’s gone and I’m alone just popping god ****** pills.

I took the words you threw at me
Stuffed them in a bag made of leather
Shook them up
Then spilled them across the page like bones

I studied them in random order
In hopes that I could read my future there
Chanting nonsense
Like an old time painted shaman

The more I looked the more I began to see
That they were after all just words
Hurled against me like weapons
From your archery mouth

So I let them drip from me
Like rain water
Crashing to the lonely street below
Where I walked away from them.

Some days I think back to that Sunday in Mississippi, the old farm house with the rusted tin roof. I was sitting on one of the rocking chairs on the front porch, just waiting for the rain to come in. The sky had turned grey as the cool wind picked up and you could smell the moisture in the air mixing with the smell of cut grass from earlier. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, just breathing it all in. The ice cubes clinking around in my glass of sweet tea as I Idly swirled it around, day dreaming more than anything else. I slumped down in the chair and kicked my feet up on the railing as the rain started coming down, slow at first, like the slow hand of a teasing lover. The droplets that were hitting the tin roof echoed across my skin as I felt my stress start melting away. Meanwhile, off in the distance, I heard the faint roll of thunder adding its sounds to my little symphony as the rain started coming down faster. There was even the occasional sound of pick-up truck tires driving down the wet road. And me? Well, I didn’t accomplish much that day. I just sat there, eyes closed, letting the rain wash me away to wherever it was going.

Steal my hopes, steal my dreams. Set me adrift with sails aflame in broken glass seas. Burn me down sweetly, gently break my bones, cut me in kindness just don't leave me alone. Tear this flesh, strip it from its home, just don't leave me alone, just don't leave me alone...

It just so happens that I have a hammer and a bag of nails, a couple pieces of wood, and some canvas for making sails. So I might as well get started, after all I have much to do. Though building a ship is the easy part, what’s hard is the open blue.

I tripped and fell one day,
over a broken heart where it lay in shades of grey.
So consumed was I in my own dismay
that I did not see it,
though it could see me.

It had been cast aside....
or more likely, it had been set free.
Perhaps it's scars were the fee,
jagged as they were.

I mulled over the thought
as I nursed my broken pride.
I dusted off my jeans and picked up that heart,
cradled it tenderly, offered it a ride....

"Where will you go" I asked,
"I'll take you there if I can.
Though the journey may be long,
for I am just a man"....

It spoke to me then,
so clear and sincere
"I care not where I go,
though may it be away from here.
My master before you was cruel and a knave!
In this briefest of kind acts
I feel I've been saved.
Will you be my new master?"...
"Words of disaster, hush now" I say,
for I am not king
nor prince,
and you are no slave" I replied...
The heart cried.

"Thank you kind sir
for your warmth and the ride,
am I heavy?" it asked...
"No" I lied...

for it's burden was great
and had been carried for years,
this crushing weight seemed too much
for only one to bear.

"It's cold out here" I said,
"have you nothing to wear?"

"Nothing" it said
"for I have been laid bare...
and left alone in the dirt".

"Then please you take my shirt,
may it cover your hurts
if only for a while,
I'll tender your wounds
mile after mile
until you heal".

"Who are you"? It asked of me
"are you even real"?....

"I am no one" I said,
"though you know me to be real,
for we are the same."

'I have not a game,
nor a name,
nor a plan."

I am no one" I said,
"for I am just a man".....

The sweetest wine to be had
Withers untouched on the vine
Bound by time

Bound by these chains of lace
Unbreakable the crimson smile
Idle wild eyes
The spies unmistakeable

See secrets of my soul
Secrets and lies
Beautiful the scars dispised
That remember the fires of yesteryear

The apple rots on the tree over time
It’s smooth bright skin becoming paper thin
Paper thin and grey effected by age
Effected by the flesh that was once firm
But has now decayed
Until it falls to the ground
Never to move again in the gentle breeze

Tears fall as diamonds to dark earth
Rusted ground where I was found
And from which I was made
The slave of self saved

By a touch
And the kissing embrace of a lover taken and given

Madness driven
To the shallow sorrows of tomorrow's hasty dawning
Spawning hopes
That crackle in the fires of want as embers
Faintly remembered

Each as the next, the same
No glory, no fame to be had
Yet we were glad!

In the moment of atonment
That moment of sin among women and men
Where hunger feeds desire
Feeds hunger
Feeds want

Ravenous need seeds the garden of greedy thoughts
And all for naught when the night is through
There is only me
There is only you

Our union desolved by time always moving
The unforgiving criminal
That robs us of what may be
Leaving beautiful memories and emptiness
Awaiting the new night
The next dance
And our chance to love again.

Around my yard there is a fence, where all the pretty birds have come, and since, it has become my favorite view. So if I may, I’ll share it with you. Upon this fence the blue jays play, when the sun is shining or the skies turn grey, and the nightingale sings by the light of the moon, the passerine bird that flies away too soon. The cardinals however, bright red and gay, like the well-lit places where the sun shares its rays, and I put out some feeders because my friends are big eaters, but I work all day to keep the squirrels at bay. Sometimes however, I let them have a bite or two, they’re giddy and playful and they need food too. But after a while I have to tell them to shoo, because these thieves have the greed to steal up all of my seeds. If they succeed there won’t be food for the finch, when he comes to light upon my fence and he’ll chirp and chirp for a little while but he won’t stay there if I have nothing to share. The humming birds zip by with lightning speed, and the best part about them is they don’t eat seeds, so I set out a little nectar, made of sugar and water, something the other birds won’t really bother. Then I sit and watch them from my chair in the shade, and try not to move because they’re easily afraid, but every day they still come to my yard, so I’ll share it with you when your life seems too hard. It might not seem like much, I have to say, but this little bit of joy can go a long long way.

This is my life, though it is not my story to tell. I am but a simple actor playing his part in a much grander scene. Sadly, I am not that skilled in my trade. I am little more than an extra on a stage that has become overcrowded, and it is how I live my life that will become the script by which history will tell my story. If I play my part well enough my remembrance may be somewhere in the credits; lost among the scrolling lines of the lives of others.

The cigarette burns against my skin,
The pain that burns hides the pain from within,
And I forget for a moment why I cringe inside.

I forget what it was I was trying to hide.

I forget why you left,
Forget why you lied,
Seared away in my foolishness,
This pride burning pride!

Crushing the crimson ash,
This slowly rolling torment hisses and I gasp
Now in dismay at my rage on display.

How foolish am I,
How timmid my timbre,
That this ember serves as my novocaine
To all things remembered.

Yet this pain is easier to bear,
And smaller are the visible scars
So judge me not,
You who know me not!

The clock tick tocks
As second fly by
Like ships form the docks
As they are untied
And dashed against jagged rocks
They sink and die
As present turns to past
In the blink of an eye
So cherish each moment
Each “Hi” and “Goodbye”
And paste on that old smile
Wear it proudly and wide
Because one day too
Your life will subside
And all that’s left
Will be the memories
Of the time that we bide.

Politician politician why do you lie? Why must you kiss our babies as they cry. Then smile seated in power with greed beady eyes as you take then deny. You who represent us as we gathered far and wide, lead us and were to stand beside us in life. And now suffer us strife that we chose you to be the one, held silent under the heel of your jack boot and the barrels of your guns. Is it fun, for you to hear our gasps as we pawn our **** for the rising cost of gas? And feel so truely alone as the banks forclose our homes? Yet we will continue to drive on, on our own, for we have no fear of being overthrown.

Adam was still a small boy when he awoke suddenly to a faint but unfamiliar sound, feeling a little shaken from another night of bad dreams. He had been having the dreams for months now and he was becoming more and more accustomed to them with each passing night. He no longer woke up screaming or crying and the fear had now become merely an uneasy feeling for him. They were something his father, too absorbed in his studies, had simply passed off as nightmares. But the visions were constant and they were always the same, always.
        The visions were of a strange world engulfed in war on a massive scale, skies ablaze with fire, smoke and choking clouds of ash. It was a raging conflict fought for reasons he did not understand, between people whose faces he could not see through the bright light that seemed to emanate from their skin. Their dark metallic armor was gilded in places with unrecognizable markings. Some sort of writing that glowed brightly in the light as if it were red hot and glistened in a deep wet crimson in the shadows leaving it looking like rivulets of blood. Their gauntleted hands were slender and graceful looking, but held terrifying weapons like none he had ever seen. They were vicious in design and locked in a fatal dance of brutality between wielder and defender. The wickedly curved blades and spiked mauls rising and falling in a horrific and destructive rhythm of clashing steel against steel followed by the almost musical battle cries and screams.  
        It all should have been too much for a small boy of his age but he saw these things so clearly, as if he some how belonged to this place and to these people. They were so terrible, they were merciless in their savagery, but they were so incredibly beautiful.

        Adam rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes and sat up in his bed, peering about through the darkness of the room. The waning moon shining through the tree limbs outside his window created an uninviting landscape of twisted black illusions and pale light. It was an effect that gave his scattered toys an eerie and surreal appearance in the pre-dawn hours. The soft glow of lamp light shining from the gap under his door was comforting though. It meant that his father was probably in the study again working late, something that wasn’t at all unusual. Maybe that’s where the noises had come from, the ones that had awakened him from his dream before it could finish. Before those gauntleted hands were reaching for him, pulling at him again.
        Adam wanted to be where that light was coming from, to be where his father was. He wanted to hear his father’s gruff voice say that it was only a bad dream and everything would be ok before being sent back to bed again. If he was lucky, he might even get some milk and cookies out of the deal, which was all the motivation he needed. He hopped out of bed and slowly opened his door so the old hinges wouldn’t betray him and started walking silently down the long hall towards his father’s study, still dragging his chocolate colored teddy bear behind him. His small bare feet padded swiftly across the hardwood floors toward the lighted door way, turning the corner to find that his world had been changed forever.

I wanted to write a poem about the joys simple things. But I’ve lost the meaning of them since I’ve been away it seems. For many years I’ve served duty tours, it’s just the life that I have lived. So I write poems of war and of warriors and death; sometimes it’s all I have left to give.

I picked my brain for images of candlelight picnics on sandy beaches, but I opened the basket looking for ammo to load in my weapon breaches. Oiling my guns may not be romantic, or when I lace my boots up tight, but you can bet your **** it comes in handy when you’re caught in a fire fight.

I tried concentrating as hard as I could, trying to envision more peaceful things. Instead I was reminded of Black Hawks with M240-Bravos in weapon slings. It seems I can’t be normal or think like a normal human being, I’ve been battle hardened inside my soul and this is part of what it brings.

PTSD is what they call it, they say I need some aid, but it just feels like second nature, pulling the pins and throwing grenades.  I’ll go home one day and I’ll look the same because my wife can’t see my scars, I’ve hid them all inside myself and that’s what makes this hard.

They tell me I’ve been lucky, I didn’t get a single injury. But the damage was done inside of me and that’s what they don’t see. So I’ll go home a “lucky one” and act like I am fine, and live my days pretending, while keeping this war trapped in my mind.

Melodies play in the passing days of grey with remorse in the notes of woe. The Sorrows tune, which flows in the colors of anger and shame! The forgotten names, that hang the heavy head hang to end in rope and rafter and regret. Pallbearers hoist the match stick man, yet strike the flame and consume the land, smoldering blood to ash.

A thousand red hands
Touch my thoughts
Sing my song
Kiss my lips
In a dream
Of things seen
In a dream
Swarming bees
As they sting
Dancing dolls
So pristine
Twirl white
Flowing gowns
In a dream
In a dream
Yet I stand
Unafraid
Shiver not
In my dream
Made by you
From a smile
As you sing
In a dream.

Lay my head to rest on the pillow of sleeplessness and nightmares, the painting of my life on the canvass of linen and tweed and fears. Hiding scars and screams that dream and leave me lonely still. Restless thoughts that carry over restless wandering lives lost, unbeating hearts frozen to unliving and unfeeling wills.

You can find me there, in your hopes, in your dreams. The places you forgot when you closed the book on a life so intangible; now break the manacles and run, and you can find me there, need me there as the bullet needs the gun in the breaking light of day. run, run, run....and I will be there waiting....

I wield this pen like an extension of my arm
The scalpel I use to carve your memory from my past
Erasing our history with the deft strokes
Of crossed T’s and dotted I’s
That makes you fade from my literature

But the bad taste of blood still lingers on my lips
From the cuts of every sharp word we spoke
Regurgitated like spears
Hurled at each other’s hearts
Leaving our throats raw and silent in their passing

While you stabbed me with a daggered glare
From glacial orbs that watched
As I swallowed my own sword
By dipping the quill in the ink well
And setting fire to your enemy encampments

When we two enemies had burned to the ground
The smoke and ash that remained
Was blown away like the sands of time
Until nothing remained but the scalpel
Gripped firmly in the bones of the hand

I see you there,
In the dark by the phone,

And when I see you I feel safe....
I feel alone.

When I feel you
I feel my injured soul
And see scars that match my own.

Cut to the bone
Sitting with you
In the only chair in a burning home

Waiting for eyes that see
My heart isn't made from stone

And though damage has been done
It wasn't me,
I'm not that accident prone.

Ripped apart at the seams, the pain, the screams, heavy breathing and dreams, the raven on razor blade wings. And there you dance on golden strings, the marionette of my nightmare things and all things shown to be true. And there you are, right there where I left you, and there you are, right there where I loved you.

If I could touch a song.

I would want it to have your face.
I would want it to touch my heart.
I would need it, my saving grace.

If I could hear a dream.

It would laugh lightly with shining eyes.
Running feilds of gold and crimson.
Running thoughts, in a racing mind.

If I could taste a miracle.

It would sweetly linger on my lips.
Sugar and forbidden fruit.
In the passion of a longing kiss.

If I could see eternity.

It would end in strawberry hair.
Emerald gems that stare at stars.
Skin so light, skin so fair.

And if I could sense a heart beat

It would be hidden among the roses.
The gentle red of silken petals.
The thorns, and the promise that it poses.

All these senses I have told confused.
If I could say it and be true.
But if I could write a poem.
I would want it to look like you.

I am the tool, dripping with the blood of innocence, the sword in the arm of unreasonable men, committing atrocities in the name of righteousness. Expected to show no emotions, stone faced, marching on, mouth closed in silent obedience. Left to my quiet insight, where I have become the spear that pierces Christ, while you sit there complaining about your self-proclaimed civil rights. Doing for those who can’t do what I’m told must be done. With battle cries and muzzle flash from the barrel of my gun. And one by one, these booted feet crush the sand. Until I stand under a hot sun, a man with his brow creased, watching countries fight for so called peace in their fear of the Middle East. And this is their answer, spending more money on war, while children in Africa die of famine ignored and UN inspectors with blind eyes, examine the solution to these problems galore. These solutions we don't see in our judgemental haste are the answers which might as well be floating in outer space. Why can't we see it when it's right in front of our face! Dear God help us, for we are the human race.

I wanted to write you a love poem Honey
I wanted to tell you in so many beautiful ways just how important you were to me

But you know…

The more I thought about it
The more my words escaped me

There were just so many things I wanted to say

I worried that if I made it too complex it wouldn’t sound like me at all
I became afraid that you wouldn’t understand what I was trying to say to you

So I typed…

Deleted…

Typed…

Then paced back and forth thinking of what to say
Because who knows me better than you do?

I must confess that I came up with less than I had planned on
So let me just say it plain

I love you like a cat loves a laser pointer!

I am the tiger that hides from himself, eating my stripes to become something else, in a jungle of my own design, where I’m trapped in the thorn vines of enemy time. Yet I, in time may change my views, staying the same by trying to become something new. Like Icarus with wings of wax, until my self-destructive choices made me fall too fast; into a past that seems filled with sorrows. Another crash landing, where I find myself in tomorrow. “Tomorrow” a word that seems deceptive at best. For tomorrow is only a past that I have not lived yet, but the memories will be there, still be piled on the shelves, just another day of wishing I was somebody else.

Muscles straining, rigid steel bands working, the man machine grinding his gears, turning the strength of years into toil. His blood begins to boil. Sweat upon sweat, blood and tears, till death return him to soil. And for what was this sacrifice made? These wages paid in time passing, age amassing in wasted years and fears of death. Fears of last breaths, jagged and gasping, eyes wide and scared, that remember laughing in those pleasant fields of fire. The open rolling desire that love embraced erased our anger, our hour of ire, and covered us in it's shelter. The shodow of it's promise given that while we're alive we have the hope of truely living, truely loving. Hand in hand to kiss the souls and never feel the cold. Never let it go, never let it go! That one precious thing that suffering subsides, suffer the sting and sing in a voice of grace in this race against minutes and seconds that steal away our hearts and the bonds they hold to eachother.

Three little words that mean so much...*"Let's Order Pizza"

A miracle struggles and takes flight from my chest in each meeting of your gaze, open eyes that look upon open eyes, the passing glimpse that halts time and sets fire to my reality. I adore that I adore and clutching hands to chest fail to contain the flood.  Emotions spilled forth as swelling surf to surging seas of feelings unknown…until this moment spent lost in those eyes. The heart is a storm, beating behind a curtain of flesh and blood… thundering, running as directionless as a derelict ship in uncharted waters on an empty horizon. Beautiful lover, whisper like the roses between parted lips and speak the song of angels grace with a look of innocence. Hand in hand to swim until we drown in this flood. For though I hunger for your kiss, I starve for something else, need something so much more. Light my world with a smile and lift my heart with a touch, a kiss, ablaze in an embrace…amazed. The moth and the fire dancing on the burning wings of elegance…

You don’t have to be subtle, your intentions are clear, there’s no need to smile in front of me. Just take your place at my back, my dear, where you can twist the knives more efficiently.

I ain’t no super hero and I got no special skills, I’m just a man trying to make it in this world. I don’t have all the answers, don’t even know all the questions yet. God knows I ain’t perfect neither, I’ve made my share of mistakes over the years. But I don’t back down if I ain’t wrong and I try my best cause it’s all I got, so baby, my best has to be good enough cause it don’t get no better than that.

I have this book that I love to carry
I take it everywhere you see
Inside there are no pictures
Only stories of you and me

It’s bound in hope and memories
But its pages give it form

See, some are tattered
Some are torn
Some have become faded
Some are worn
And some are stained

But what remained
Was a history
The day to day telling of our mystery
That took forever to figure out

But even after all this time
I know without a doubt
That this book was really based on you
And I’m glad I filled it out.

Hope, faith and clouds under night stars and shining gods see me walk over bottomless holes, the barefoot faithful soul treading upon snow white darkness. Travelling the doubting one's road with no one to blame, as marks of pain heal unashamed, with disregard that life may be hard, but I hope one day you'll see beauty in these scars.

I found myself siting in the sand, my back against a Hesco bastion, writing on an old familiar note pad. I imagined myself at home, sitting against the old oak tree that grew in the back yard, grass tickling my bare feet in the humid summer breeze. The old cheap pencil I was using had bite marks on it and the eraser was long gone but it wrote just fine and made a scratching sound against the grain of the paper that I found soothing as I filled the page. It was my escape after all…writing. It took me away from the day to day stress of southern Afghanistan. I thought about that as I wrote…how people needed a way to escape. I’ll admit to thinking about all kinds of things, that’s just what writing does for me. It makes me think. It makes me want to tell stories of love, pain, sorrow and joy. It makes me want to abuse my notepad with doodles and tear stains long after I forgot what I was doing in the first place, which wasn’t the point anyway. It wasn’t important “what” I was writing. It was important “that” I was writing, because the joy is in the doing.

The old man climbs slowly out of his bed upon the horizon and filters in through the gaps of the blinds in the kitchen window. He comes to greet me each morning to the smell of brewing coffee and burning toast. He never says much, never asks for much, and yet he says everything I need to hear at that moment. He watches me as I stir in my milk and sugar, smear on a little butter, and take a bite of breaking day…

Good morning my old friend…sure is good to see you again.

This coffee cup is only half full.
Like the world around me.
Like the people who invade my day to day.
GULP
****!
Now it's empty.

I saw a raven on the radar tower
Looking out over fields of desolation
Cawing out his commands
To passing foot soldiers
As they talked, unaware
He was so proud and imposing
Yet ominous
Gleaming in the sun
Like a General in black
Surveying the war efforts
Of his own encampment.

Instructions for Life-Lesson 1

How to be Awesome daily.

Step 1: Wake up each morning and say “I’m Awesome!”
Step 2: Go to closest mirror and visually confirm Awesomeness. (It’s there-trust me)
Step 3: Continue on with the rest of your day…being totally Awesome!

If followed regularly, these simple steps can change the one thing that differentiates the Awesome from the Non-Awesome, and that is belief in self.

Now get out there and have an Awesome day!

Hello friends
Hello neighbors!

I’m here to tell you about an amazing new product
That comes in a variety of flavors.
For a limited time only, it’s totally free!
So if you want to try some I’ll wave all your fees.

It works for your kids
It works on your spouse
If used correctly
It might even clean your house!

Your troubles are over
Your marriage restored
It’s true my friends!
But you can’t find it in stores.

It improves bad grades
And cleans out gutters
It makes you stronger
And makes you stand out to others!

You’ll be smarter and faster
If you just give it a try
It’s true indeed my friends
Now let me tell you why

This fool proof phenomenon
That’s sweeping the nation
Is made of two parts hard work
And two parts determination!

This world is my city,

A school of piranha, swimming in a sea of tears.
Razor teeth and gaping mouths,
Each more ravenous than the next,
Feasting on the fears that flow from my veins
In the brilliant colors of doubt,
Leaving me defenseless.

This world is relentless.

In its cold gaze of disdain,
Leaving a stain upon my soul,
Which made me whole,
Made me cold,
Then broke me to pieces
And left me crying in my sleep.

This world is deep.

Like an ocean of night skies,
And I am drowning in it,
With downcast eyes
Trying so hard
To be the man I remember,
In a past I wish I could forget.

This world is regret.

In the unfulfilled promises
Carried by the hands of yesterday,
Holding sway over the bulging seams
And fabric of my reality,
Sewn in heart strings, that once severed,
Allows me to break through.

This world is you.

And you are everything in it,
While I, the unwelcome stranger
Wish only to stay a while longer,
A sacrifice to danger,
And in remembrance, linger
Of the ring upon your finger.

I sit here looking out at him
From across the distance
I can see his eyes
He is looking at me too

I am the infidel he fears
The invader of his lands
In a war waged by politicians

There’s a sheen of sweat
Beading on his forehead
His beard gently swaying in the breeze
It’s almost tranquil

As if time stopped
Just for me
And in that second
Hours tick away

The sun gleams brightly
Off his white head dress
And the whites of his eyes
As they widen

He is yelling something
Though I don’t understand
I don’t speak his language
Don’t really want to

But I see him

I wonder if he’s a husband
Or a father
I wonder what he did before this
I wonder would it matter

Because I know he is the enemy
They told me so
Then put me here

All these thoughts
All these observations
Happened in an instant

In the time it took
To level our weapons
At each other
From across the distance

His is an AK-47
It looks old
It looks dangerous
Pointed at me like that

I pulled the trigger
And walked away
He stopped yelling

And I knew
If only for a moment
That one day would come
When someone would look at me
From across the distance

Would they have similar thoughts?
When my day came
Would they understand the words?
As I yelled them

Would they know?
That their day would also come?

Or am I the only one
Who understands?
That this is what it is
To live by the sword

I’ve never been one for the tough guy phase but I consider myself manly in many ways. I may not be a genius but I’m sure not dumb and I’ve worked all my life so I’m certainly no ***. I’ve had a few fights and I’ve made a few friends, then gone off to war and come home again. I go to the gym and I’m a pretty strong guy but none of that matters and I’ll tell you why. You can be a tough guy, become strong and join the army. But when your little girl asks, you’ll still read her bed time stories about Barbie.

You chose the long road where I'll be waiting. You walked on forever as if time were nothing. Arrived late to find me there wanting, eyes wet, weeping. Endless days spent on a dead end street seeking. So determined was I to find something, blind eyes peeking, when you never promised forever as you approached and became my everything...