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Timothy Nov 2012
A few hours after midnight; the world is fast asleep.
Alone and cold do I wander. Like a nightmare do I creep.
With the intent of nothing I sit and watch the street.
It’s a week after Halloween and my shoes are on my feet.
I near my house, I think I’ll shave, (My chin has an itch.)
But at my feet upon the ground a color doesn’t fit;
Black on black with a spot of white doesn’t sit quite right.
You’d think they’d be more careful, ornery little gits.
Yet here at my feet, some candy lies plainly in my sight.
I stop to stare and wonder, and my brain does a nervous twitch.
 
So here I am; with a piece of candy that might have mange
Meanwhile my mind is discovering a whole new range
For all the pain we go through, to keep the world nice,
 Nothing anyone does ever seems to pay the price.
I’ve got a new hybrid car, gets 50 to the gallon plus it’s electric.
And when I finish a snack trash is out the window. Are we epileptic?
I mean you’ve got to be kidding me, who can say that they are not
A miserable little hypocrite? World is full of betrayal and lies.
Filling with anger, righteous and hot, I feel a change in my soul.
I’ll be better! I’ll change the world or the two of us will sever ties!
The earth will follow my example and we’ll hold to higher goal.
Give me a few years and then lets see what we’ve got!
 
I hold onto the fantasy for a while, sad to let it slip.
But the truth does sink in and reality has a tighter grip.
Even if I spoke who would listen? One cry in a thousand’s not so great.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, to resign ourselves to our fate.
I’ve never been a pessimist, just a realistic optimist you understand.
If you want change, aim for what you can hold in your hand.
Think you can bring about world peace, think you’ve got the might?
Try to keep peace in your town, or your block, or home without a fight.
I stand and think to myself one more Sucker here and there,
Isn’t going to change a thing. If ten men vowed never to let themselves repeat
Their mistakes, the next day a chance would come, one would stand,
Nine would shudder and forsake him. Alone he’d return to his seat.
I step away and head home. I return my thoughts to the matters at hand.
Like my homework; a poem and some calc. I’ve still got to lose some ****** hair
Timothy Mar 2013
The winter night is bitter.
Take me with you.
The old familiar sound,
Footsteps breaking forming ice.
Take me with you.
The wind picks up. 
I shudder at the destitute,
the poor and barren road.
Take me with you.
I heard you might travel this path.
I'm cold and alone
I bet your car is warm and worn,
With the sitting of cheery company.
Take me with you.
The streetlights in my distance,
Promise peace, Promise rejection.
Another hotel key,
Another dead mattress for me.
I miss the backseat of a car.
Take me with you.
I'd like to one more time,
(Take me with you)
taste the nectar of adventure.
(Take me with you)
I'm afraid though,
(Take me with you)
That if I go alone,
(Take me with you)
I'll not have anything of value.
(Take me with you.)
I want to tackle the open road
together.
It's starting to snow. 
The fire that kept me warm
has begun to burn low.
Take me with you.
Timothy Mar 2013
Hello scarecrow,
with straw hair and sackcloth skin.
Hello scarecrow,
with drawn on eyes and a mouth shut with a pin.
Your close mouthed smile startles birds, 
and so they have flown like fast regretted words.
alone I see you in the golden field,
alone I feel you, living heart deeply sealed
Sewn inside your rugged flesh,
a man is watching with bated breath.
For a word to signal his return,
for the fire to signify his burn.
Trapped inside another's skin
trapped, waiting for his life to begin.
Your eyes watch the world go by,
trapped scarecrow waits to die,
trapped the scarecrow starts to cry.
If I could set you free I swear I would,
But unlike you, my skin is made of wood.
Goodbye scarecrow,
With gritty straw hair and burnt sackcloth skin.
Goodbye scarecrow,
With living eyes and a skeleton grin.
Timothy Dec 2012
What blessed men are those
Who glide amidst the snow.
Their eyes their guide
and hands made plans
To get them where to go.

What blessed men are these,
who flit along the breeze,
Sail raised on high,
helm and hull their only ride
To brave the ocean's freeze

What blessed life is mine,
To sit and stay inside.
With hand and pen ink-dipped
I start upon adventure's trip,
to catch each syllable and rhyme.
Timothy Mar 2013
the lullaby to the nightmare dance.
From the grave grows stronger plants.
yes, it could be our final romance.
What's life without that chance?
 
Carry on wings rotting away,
your masterpiece, the final play.
your hope, your dreams, you pray,
all these things are here past today.
 
Calling all poets, song-writers and the hopelessly romantic.
The time has come to let your heartfelt song get frantic.
Unleash the overflow before this depression gets too manic.
Get the music pounding; this is no time for anyone too panic.
Timothy Dec 2012
Piercing the white veil,
The tarmac steaming
from overrun millions.
Dotted yellow hexagrams,
lost in a backward glance.
Far from precious cerulean skies
Farther still from incarnadine sunrise.
The predawn grey swirls it's silken dress,
Alluring all towards the edge.
Heavy hands hold the circle
while bleary eyes fail to pierce the translucent fog.
The black road;
smeared with last nights fallen remnants
begs for another story to travail over it,
or fall prey to it's countless tragedies.
The taste of stale coffee bites,
with an acidic bitterness that gags.
that memorable flavor
Combining with the old taste of the last cigarette,
brings the pain of aging headaches,
and memories of stories before the road.
Timothy Nov 2012
there is a long ways along the dark I travel.



There is a long fall down the path of gravel.



No thing,



dig use.



Feel you?



Regress.



What you got there?



Autumn.



Seasons shift and dig uprooted life.



The fall comes before the storm,



The haunting comes before the norm.



swing tick and swing tock



time shifts less.



Good guy.



your heart was born.



.
Timothy Dec 2012
I've been there.
In the heart of darkness,
Shaking, scared.
In that place
where good men lie
and innocence dies.
In your heart
you've seen it too
In onyx, jet black.
You know it's true.

eighteen,
yet to live,
eight,
no more to strive,
For that one golden cup,
of love of life
of things unheard.
one,
prey to hatred,
prey to madness,
prey,
to the depths.
His very own,
heart of darkness.

Like birds who spread their wings
embarking on a journey,
your life soars and sings
in fight and flight away from the gurney.

— The End —