maybe




everything will be better




tomorrow

rain drop dripping
leaking through the roof
sounds like clipping
a horse's heavy hoof
slowly sipping
from an empty cup
can't stop tripping
you come pick me up
now we're stripping
time to go to sleep
cold is gripping
water's getting deep
skinny dipping
ocean in the sheets
the CD's skipping
every note repeats
wind is whipping
branches beat the wall
now we're slipping
hope that soon I fall
playful nipping
you want open eyes
bed is flipping
love starts despise
now quick zipping
slamming of a door
rains still dripping
pass out on the floor

A decorative chair
(where no one's ever sat) stands
in a decorative room
(where no one ever goes) in a homely
half mansion
(on the main floor, just left of the front door)
and thinks to himself
all day, every day,
that his purpose in this world is
as of yet unserved
having never once provided rest
for the weary legged
and wishes to himself
once, or twice a day,
to hear a little ditty
from the decorative piano
(dust upon the keys no one ever learned to play)

You remember the afternoon
The little lass was found
Asleep without her teddy
Forever on the ground
Not much right is ever
Made from such a wrong
The boys put him away to stay
For
I can't recall how long


Workers the next day
Discussed it on their coffee break
In the wake of tragedy
Folks got lots of noise to make
"You heard the search is over?
A coffin door is open
Is nothing sacred any more?
What's left here to place hope in?"

The poets wrote some poems
The news was nothing new
The inmates got their three
                  free meals a day

A chef came close to starving
A dealer had a deal to do
'Cause on the outside there
                  are
                 bills
                 to
                  pay....

To keep a roof above one's head
To house the killer too
A room, no board, a bed,
           his, free to lay

Honest people sleep on streets
Does this not seem wrong to you?!
Cry for justice, cry for Her,
           join me when I say...

Bring                              Bring
Bring                              Bring
Back                                Back
The                                   The
Guillotine              Guillotine

A young man
Thougb not too young
Carved from flesh
Molded by experience
Came to the river

He'd crossed it before
Before his child was born
Many years prior to
His lover's death

Mother of their son

And his son
Carved from his own flesh
Hated him
Crossed the river on his own
Leaving our hero
To ask his reflection
Clear as a mirror
In the river
"What went wrong"

More than twenty
Centuries passed

His soul was never released
Never became free
As
As a young man
He'd hoped it would be

Our hero fell into the river
The water accepted him
The water permissed him
Join the current
And so he passed
Twenty some odd
Centuries
To become some one
Who hated himself
Who dreamt only of
Oblivion
An unfortunate slip of the razor

shaking from the cold
making gold from dirt
asking proper questions
raking fallen leafs
taking grief in stride
ironing a shirt
never thinking twice before
giving out beliefs

using all that's happened
painting a bright future

Wake up when the alarm goes off

    must have set it for a reason
    a reminder from the past
    there are things to be done today
    places to meet, people to go

    thought was put into its creation

    to ignore the persistent beep
    would only be disrespect to
    yourself
    for it was you who set it

    or have you become someone new
    a person who is angered
    by a stranger
    trying to wake you?