Somewhere in the sands of time,
I hear a faint and faithful cry -
the song of a wingless bird
singin' "love will never die".
But where has he gone now?
That candle in a hurricane.
The bird singing in the storm -
wings beating against the rain.
And what will he become
when his soul no longer sings?
When he makes a nest of thorns
and fills it up with shiny things.
-
He can't say he'll sing tomorrow -
Tomorrow might never come
And the only awful song
is a song that is never sung.

The wild wonderland
of believed dreams with
good outcomes resting
in the minds of poor kids -
patted down like
little mud cakes and shaped in
old pans on culled lumber porches.

Who's ever gonna fix that rail?
No one.

Kids are busy baking cakes
and the older folks couldn't
care less..

Only those in the middle
are blinded by conformity
and set on edge by competition..

But, in this light, who couldn't surrender their darkness
of cold competition to the light and warmth of these lads?

Who wouldn't make way
for such a thing to happen?

Little lights of
hope that will only fade
into the sunset of adulthood
in due time...

But not today.

Not for them.

They have cakes to bake.

Remember me, Darlin',
on rainy days -
when boredom breeds
some restless state of mind..
I pray that, after you take
inventory of mindless tasks
and make another attempt
to recall some fresh memory
of your Old Man,
that you remember me,
even for just a moment -
dismissing my error
with a subtle smile
before whispering,
"****.. I hope he's alright."  

That's love..

That's love more than this is.

Nevermind your broken heart,
my dear -
He was never sent to care.
Just a passerby on winding road
with a destination not so clear.
A road so hazy you can't see your last step,
"Where will you go next?" -
the question of the hour.
"Anywhere but here",
she begged as she wiped away tears from a broken heart she should've just kept.
Kept far away from anyone to misuse,
She's broken again like a shattered mirror.
Thoughts of why she's never enough,
Why she always has to lose.

If this autumn moon
that gives such light
were the eye of He who
gave me sight,
then He would see
a sheep asleep
while children die
and mothers weep.  

And, if glimmering stars
were angel bands
that laid to waste
a wasteful man,
then I would pray
that they be blind
to those I've harmed
or left behind.

Stars don’t shine like they used to..
and these visions in my head are horrid..
and the voices are merciless
telling me it’s all my fault and
that I’ll never find real love.
Whatever that is.
But I’ve been here before.
Take care of yourself, darlin.

Just so you know, you left
my soul a little more broken...
my mind a little more
paranoid and untrusting..
lonely and confused.  
There’s no hope in my eyes
or hop in my step.
But I’ve been here before.  
Take care of yourself, darlin.

.. likes tearing people down
with loose talk and harsh words -
Empathy tossed aside
by the misuse of nouns and verbs.
.. a twisted view of society
just bound to be seen and heard -
Everyone, listen quietly
till every harsh word is slurred.
The Queen of the Night Life;
her brokenness - a crown.
Out-spokenness - a sword
that she just loves to swing around.
And me, I'm just a jester;
my struggle - a comedic scene,
but she’s justified by anger
only entitled to the royal queen.