I'm not a man of many friends,
I'm a man surrounded by people
Who appreciate my existence
As much as I do theirs.

You won't always be someone's favorite. Some people prefer wine while others prefer something a little bit more strong like whiskey.

Some times it's better to be someone's second choice rather than someone's first mistake.

Art is reckless.  
Artists splatter paint across their canvas.

Poetry itself is reckless.
  We splatter our words across the readers minds.

Two separate trains departed
As the same did two friends.
Each going the wrong direction
And the tracks, God knew where would end.
I am not in the slightest ashamed to say
That I was not on a train that day.
Instead that day, I remember well,
With bags in hand, I bid farewell.
I was not amused, no I was not impressed,
The journey beyond that thickened smoke.
I must confess, that what I found best,
Was the road, though longer
Was no kinder stranger
For this drifting bloke.
So I said Goodbye, with no tear to eye
As I went about my way.
Towards my destination there,
Though I can't say where,
Perhaps tomorrow I'll find it some day.

Have we just faded
Into the winds of time
Searching for a new tomorrow
And dying as the setting sun
That once glistened as embers
Now wroghts in the anguish
Of what  was
And what is still to be.
May we look to the time
As we were children and laugh.
With a laughter that will forever
Surround each other  with love.

You dont have to hear the sirens
You dont have to see the lights
Dont pay attention to the virus
Just close your eyes tonight

Tomorrow will come on its own
But for now just rest your head
You have your own carousel
Spinning around above your bed

You don't know a thing about the violence
Something so pure can't understand
And when you grow I hope you know
That you will always have a place
To make your stand

Today was the first day
Of the rest of your life
And tomorrow will be the same way
Dream a dream so soft and sweet
About a world thats better than today

Hush little baby
And don't you cry
The sun will shine again
When you're in darkness
There's always light
And in the cold
There's warmer days ahead

Sleep my child sleep
And mothers don't you weep
And fathers, oh fathers make sure you know
That this child needs the rain
For his dreams to grow

This prayer is for you my son
And I know one day you'll understand
That you will turn from a boy having fun
To a man, a good good man

Hush little baby
And don't you cry
The sun will shine again
When you're in darkness
There's always light
And in the cold
There's warmer days ahead

Sleep my child sleep
And mothers don't you weep
And fathers, oh fathers make sure you know
That this child needs the rain
For his dreams to grow

In dreams she spoke to me
Tho In life she never glanced
Her velvet touch what draws to me
Yet awake I've not a chance

So now I sleep again
For in dreaming shall I find
A way to take her hand
Long before the sun shall rise

Hold me near
Through the passing of the night
Call to me with your voice so sweet
Until the waking light

And in life are we strangers
In dreams there is no danger there
For love is in our nature
And no more fear shall we bear!

In dreams I've felt her gentle hand
I've often heard her voice
And it would be, always be!
If I only had the choice

She bids me go
With the coming of the rays
She'll pass me by without "Hello!"
Until the passing of the day

Woman Sweet woman
The gentle temptress of my dreams
Won't you dream a dream of me
And you'll find nothing is as it seems

Such a vision so confound,
These shadows on the wall.
God forbid one make a sound
Lest all of them should fall.
What to do if the sun should rise
What then would become of they?
Shall each ashen spirit meet their demise
And should send my friends away?

Such a vision so concerning,
This reflection in the glass
Such a question my curiosity yearning
Perhaps a man from hours past?
What to do if the glass should break
What then would become of he?
Such a thought for my own sake
Would he be slain or rather be set free?

Tis I-the one who walks the weary mile. The one who escapes my past, though I walk in reverse, keeping my eyes set on those who I have met before and God forbid their arrows that fly by night will not pierce my own nerve.

I will tell you a story
That I know nothing about.
Regarding a deaf man
Who was sure he heard a sound.
Now you could go
And ask the blind man
Because he saw it happen.
It even woke the dead woman
While she was busy napping.
What a sound, such a sight!
Under the sun on that starry night.
For those of you reading,
I'm sure your curiosity grows
But I can't tell you anything about it  
That I don't already know.

I do not fear death. In death, it is not about the journey. It is the destination, and the path set for you to take.

it's fun being different. Everyone thinks you're crazy and it really throws them off. THAT, is the joy.

A friend is like an anchor
That keeps you standing strong
And a memory is just the cargo
That keeps it moving on

Sailing on to new horizons
To the moments that we share
Leaving the past in the distance
To what awaits us there

So i won't worry about the waves
They will come and they will pass
Like a stranger you forgave
Falling like sand into a glass
And I will never see the future
If I focus on the past
So I won't worry about the waves
They will come and they will pass

Many times we dream about tomorrow
And never focus on today
People come into our lives
And we let them slip away

So hold your friends close at heart
And welcome new ones in
For we fail if we're apart
But together we will win

So i won't worry about the waves
They will come and they will pass
Like a stranger you forgave
Falling like sand into a glass
And I will never see the future
If I focus on the past
So I won't worry about the waves
They will come and they will pass

"How Fascinating your mind must be!" 
Take a look inside, and you will see. 
It's very dark, don't lose your way.
People often visit, though never stay. 

"In your head, what would we find?" 
Things are broken, so please be kind!
Scattered pictures from a time before,
You will find it's quite a bore! 

"How lonely it must be inside your brain!"
It is a place that's seen much pain. 
Deep in earth, my love lies cold, 
From every lie it has been told! 

"We've changed our minds
We have our doubts!"
Then that makes two 
Please get me out!

Amidst the far, and flowering brush,
Dwelt a place, where,
While we were much older,
Still had we remained children
At purest heart.
The fair aroma reconciled my passion-
The constant burning in my soul
Which I had long forsaken.
There it swelled, and my heart,
While it remained volcanic,
And while the blossoms of the field
Were very well endowed,
In childhood hour,
While my spirit still dwelled,
In the passing hour, I did not.

Passion is making dreams come true, even when you're not asleep.

These were the days
Through the misted mid regions of Spain
During the autumn fair,
In perhaps my most hindered year.

I still remained vulnerable to life and what it had to instruct
Though had I been aware of the vast surroundings
Which shrouded my capable nature.

Al hope had been restored
My heart volcanic
My conscience, there
Through the Autumn air.

Our talks, they were distant,
And cater cousins we,
Who held solemn belief
In things, that most would turn their gaze.

"In she," said I.

"I find myself so terribly lost.

I tell you, if the sun shall rise no longer,
The rivers dry and embedded,
I shall find myself wanting to be lost once more.

And all men who gaze upon her majestic, and harbored nature
Shall gaze upon the very face of the Heavens."

The way to love someone with anxiety is to accept the apologies that are not there to be forgiven.

I passed a man
On the street today.
He said Hello
But not his name.

I went to the cemetery
With respects to pay
This is the second time
I saw this man that day.

He'd been there a while
It was easy to tell.
Such a strange place
Where someone would dwell.

I said Hello,
But no answer he gave.
Though I learned his name
When I looked at his grave.

And she was a bird.
                    A sight to be admired,
But a vulture if you stood too close.
        Free to come and go as she pleased.

The heart is the compass to the soul
And the eyes are the mirrors to the mind.

Where others were,
I was not present.
While others spake,
I was silent.

As others were,
I was not.
And what others saw,
I could not bring myself to see.

At what age others were,
I remained a child.
And the things they so heard,
I had covered my ears.

While others loved,
And had shared love
With one another,
I loved alone.

Don't judge someone who sins differently than you do.

You wouldn't throw stones at your own home if other people were, so why are you throwing them at yourself?

A very rich man
Came walking down the street.
He saw a lowly begger
Clinging to his feet.
"Spare some change sir?"
He said with no remorse or shame.
"For just a dollar I'll share my story
And you will know my name!"
The rich man, annoyed, shoved him
"I'm very late! I've no time to debate!"
And he went on his way.

But little did he know
He would meet the man again
On the very next day.
"Spare some change?
I now have asked you twice!
For just a dollar I will share
Some friendly advice."
Again, the rich man angered
Shoved him and went about his way.
Little did he know
He would lose his job that very day.

In few months time,
He was down to his last dime,
Little did he know
He would meet the man one final time.
"Spare some change?
I'll never ask again!
And I will tell you
How we are the same within!"

The once rich man
Tossed his dime
On the ground next to him.
"Alright!" He cried.
"I'm giving up the fight!
Do tell what about me
Has captured your delight!"

The beggar laughed.
"So easily you forget!
Tell me has it crossed your mind
That we have somewhere met?"
The man puzzled for a moment
About the people he had known before.
The strangers on the street,
The beggars at his feet,
Or the salesmen that came in numbers
And showed up at his door.

"Say no more,"
The beggar sighed.
"I can see you don't recall
My name is Fred,
You would know me more instead
If I still worked in a suit and tie.
You couldn't recognize me,
Because you couldn't
See yourself in my position.
But now you do, and so it's true
That we're only the same
In certain situations."

"So what about the lesson?"
The man asked.
"What about that crack?
"I learned that when you fired me,
When the world has taken everything,
The only thing to do
Is to take something back!"

Writing is not a hobby
It's the soul having the opportunity
To speak on It's own.
It's a way of life.
And the more you write,
The more you breathe life
Into a society
That the rest of the world
Has left for dead.

Don't be afraid to love yourself again.

Some of the most extraordinary things in life have never happened for the sake of over thinking.

.You know what rumors and fires have in common? Some people start them, while others spread them. And in the end someone always gets hurt.

A library is for those who have eyes to see what's there to not be seen, and the ears to hear that which is not spoken.

Sometimes your friend is your greatest enemy, and sometimes your greatest enemy is your friend. Sometimes, you are both.

And, as we grow,
While time passes through the glass,
May we always remember
That, with time, people change.
Of course, even if they don't,
May we always remember
That it's ourselves
That we hurt in the long run.
For one cannot forgive the past,
The odds of history repeating itself
Are inevitable.
And if one cannot forget the past,
They cannot hope to have a future.

Poetry is the fine line that divides our world from a world we never knew existed.

We watch movies,
To create the illusion that the actors
Are still alive.
We listen to music,
So their voices will still ring
About our ears,
We write poetry, so that
Every last word that poets of the past
Never got to write, is said
And remembered.

They were learning how to hate,


     And they were loving every minute.

Do not follow where you were meant to lead. The blind cannot lead the deaf.

People like us don't change.
We just do a little better each time.

The only problem with a closing door is the possibility of something falling between it, unable to be closed, and the chance of it being opened again.

They came and stepped on
Our sacred land
Took our way of life
Before they took our hand

And the huts and houses
That we built
They burned them down
And had our people killed

And to this day
We still don't understand
The wicked ways
Of the crooked man

They do not listen
They do not see
They ask no questions
To you or to me

But maybe one day
They will learn
That not all bridges
Must be burned

And all you white men
I've got to say
We were here first
When your ships drifted away

And still we will
Make our final stand
When you return
To your own native land

The constant shrieks-each syllable overlapping one another, aiding to the utter horror of which their eyes have seen. A stream of red trickles down that lowly alleyway. And the victim still, who's eyes have seen all things, keeps her secrets well in death. And the blood! The blood itself has an empty accusing stare at the very assailant standing idly by within the crowd. I do not see his face, though a man stands beside me with his collar upright and his brim pulled well over his brows, keeping his secrets in the lining of his pockets,  twixt the stitches in the seams. The man is gone without a trace leaving only a letter behind without so much washing the blood from his hands, his skin stained with his own heinous misdeed. It seems this Jack has vanished into the night, a prowling beast who stalks its prey. Is he man or devil? Is he? Are they?

To be the person that other people see in their dreams, you have to first become the person you see in your own.

A tender tune soothes a savage soul.

Mister Stephen King quotes,
"We should write every day!"
If one was to do that,
We would very soon
Run out of things to write about.

To those who dream by night, are only to escape the vast intervals by day.

Remember to breathe, darling.
                    It's a bad day, not a bad life.

And somewhere within the field of weeds and shrub,  she smiled until there was nothing left but Roses.

Those who rely only on their self image will never discover the true  beauty that lies within the chambers of the heart.

This is for you Robin

I'm a genie in a magic lamp
I'm a bird thats in a cage
I'm a man who's really Peter pan
And im a kid trapped in a game

I'm someone who wears a smile
Even though there's so much pain
And I may not be here tomorrow
So can I make you laugh today?

I'm a man of many faces
And sometimes I forget my own
I'm a man that can find a voice
That you will always know
But one thing that I cannot find
Is any peace to be near
But the thing that gives me the greatest joy
Is your laughter through the years

I'm a man with a broadcast
Telling you good morning every day
I'm a man who can "patch" you up
When your blue skies are turning gray

And still I wonder what dreams may come
But I believe I've lived all of mine
But I dont worry if there ever were some
That I left so far behind

I'm a man of many faces
And sometimes I forget my own
I'm a man that can find a voice
That you will always know
But one thing that I cannot find
Is any peace to be near
But the thing that gives me the greatest joy
Is your laughter through the years

O God - how my thoughts trouble me!
And how my fears they worry me!
I alone have become my greatest enemy
And have put myself into a position
Where darkness rises over me!
But you, O Lord are my light
You are the anchor
Which keeps me from drowning
Your arms are the arms that hold me
And your voice is the voice of no other
Under your wings, am I protected
From the foe that to evil delivers me
Thi You have shown your mercy
Over this troubled soul
And to no other shall I sing my praise!