They say the pen is mighter than the sword.
In truth, it is equally as dangerous.
Words can be steel against others
Words can cut deeper than a physical wound
(Especially now that the roots of race and prejudice
and ignorance is laid bear for all to see, along with
it's flames)
Words are arrows
Loosed into the air and once its been fired,
you cannot take it back.
There are some who abuse words as well
Just like swords, words can start a battle
A battle of wits
When the person must have a stone heart against
what is said.
When you hold the pen, you hold a golden flower.
Though there is beauty in it, you should also be afraid
of the gold tube and black ink.
In a society like ours, where the superficial rules over
the original, one word, what you saw, what you write
Has the destiny of creating a legacy
OR
Add further fuel to the fires of hatred

The first time I saw you
It was through a dirty window.
You were leaning against a wall
Smoking a cigarette.

A tall, cool strager totally unaware.

I couldn't help but wonder
If your lips tasted like nicotine
Or if those slight curls
Were as soft as they looked.

And I knew then I wanted you.

I wanted to scream,
"Can I be your new addiction?"
But then you put out the spark
And retreated into that green door.

You left me wanting to see so much more.

the furthest hill to the closest tree,
It mocks what the eye can see,
In capture of heart and love of place,
The perfect portrayal of her face,
Like it was there but it is gone,
But now with this it will be forever and on.
Saving what happened frozen in time,
To when the fate seals and one forgets,
The eldest painting just begins to set.
It tells of time and thought,
The memory that another caught.
The land, the people the joy the glee,
Much more horror than our eyes can see.
With a brush and paper and the world in view,
We'll be able to take away a flash or two.
Paint and people come together
A piece of past kept forever,

Missing a moment,
too self centered see
a girlfriend's beauty;

physical flesh
of minds electric
exhale purple images
upon galaxy screens  
silky neuron fabric
weaved with dreams
tie memories
to feeling

Let's talk about loneliness
Yes, you read it well
I'm talking about loneliness
Empty thoughts, a blackout

It's when you have lost all your feelings
You try to switch your heart on
But nothing happens
You just standing there, stargazing

The sky is more dark than ever
You hoping
You waiting
But still, you feel nothing

In the quiet of the night,
Where darkness steals the need for sight,
When most are asleep, I lie awake,
Waiting for the dawn to break,
Long past trying to count sheep,
My brain’s shallow, but my thoughts are deep,
My mind’s trying to put the world to rights,
But I think it might take ... several nights!

Good moods used to promise themselves to me,
convincing me things could stay that way.
That something had changed for good.
But they don't.
So I was left betrayed.
And disappointed.
Because the of lows that follow.
Eminent and looming.  
And you can never out run them.
Not with innocent denial,
or hand fulls of pills.
With every high there is a low.
Just like peaks and valleys.
And so I struggle to stand tip toed.
When I already know whats down that road.

I used to be comforted
by the sound of ocean waves outside my window.
I used to sigh in and out with each current pull.
A heave forward.
A drag backward.
Reliable.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
In and out. In and out.
I used to breath with the water.
And it was simple.

A heavy thought is      dropped into the mind.
When it becomes light     it will resurface.