Who would know the struggle?
The apocalyptic rubble..
So sick I'm seeing double
and I haven't had a drink.

Jarred by nightly terror
Scarred by trial and error
Acting on impulse because
I'm too afraid to think.

And if I'll always be psychotic,
let it be no harm to anyone..
Fill my mind with hues of color
and not the pressure of time..
If I'm convinced of any lies,
let it be: this world is fine
I'll bid farewell to sanity
and let the colors fill my mind..

I'm pacing these floors,
shaking my head,
shifting in my bed,,
trying to figure out
what happened..

what happened?

Obsessed and
aggravated.

What happened?

Why is everybody
so **** mad?
And why do I
always talk so slow?

.. 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

If I could only
grasp the wind,
then I would know
how freedom feels -

And if I could
know you once again,
it'd take these
blisters off my heels.

For now, I'm lonely -
scratchin' skin
beneath the rags
of where I've been.

Staying outside
my broken mind -
too afraid
of looking in.

The boy could run
but he couldn't walk
Had no time to think
and no room to talk
Passed by more people
than he ever helped
Never knew anything
except for what he felt
But if there's one thing good
we can say about this man
it's that he's long gone now
and, here, we all stand

A sheet of ice from the winter freeze,
Candle-lit windows, haunting trees,
Branches dancing in the subtle breeze.
A quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

A distant light from the radio tower
Blinks on time in the late-night hour.
A star-scattered sky so still and sweet.
A quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

Redlights ahead, the road ending abrupt
Kicking rocks to keep from looking up.
Cracks in my soul like the cold concrete.
A quiet earth rolls beneath my feet

A man staggers in the streetlight glow.
He smiles because he knows that I know.
I nod and gaze down the familiar street
as a quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

Down by the oak trees and old ball park,
The hillside hidden by the dense dark,
I hear the rushing sound of Town Hill Creek.
A quiet earth rolls beneath my feet.

Caught up inside
a storm,
I whispered softly  
into the wind,
"Don't let the
lightening strike
me like it has with
all my friends."
The firstfruits of our
freedom trickled
down from
the oppressor.
I want, so badly,
to make it right,
but I just can't
in this kind of
weather.

I could describe
everything about you
having never met you -
recite your words
like a Silverstein poem,
sketch every
imperfection, and
feel every embrace.

So believe me
when I say you're
the one I've always
wanted and that
I loved you before
I knew you.

I stood atop
a mountain;
beneath was
everything I am.
I grinned when
I felt the wind
and nodded to
my inner man..
No doubt I've
seen some troubles;
crevices etched
in my terrain
from the rushing
roar of rivers
brought by days
of relentless rain,
but these scars,
they tell the stories
of the storms
I've had to weather
and serve as a
reminder that
these storms
don't last forever..

Weapons primed and ready;
Round the troops, sound the sirens.
Snipers, hold your rifle steady
for the battle of the irons.

Pride and Hatred take a stance.
Violence crouches - taking aim.
Never takes a second glance
before he fires across the plane.

She lies helpless in the street.
Shot down in violent fashion.
Pleading peace in her defeat.
The victim's name is Compassion.

"Just keep your love about you."
said the kettle to the ***.
"What you have, you have to give
and charity is all you've got."
"And keep yourself together."
said the kettle to the cup.
"Some day soon you'll find a spoon
that stirs your spirit up."

That weapon
of mine you
confront with such
hateful hostility
is the only sword
sharp enough to
pierce your
inattentive armor -
You'd never
acknowledge
my existence
had I not been
swinging it.

And that
drunken bellow -
the only noise
louder than
the pushy,
productive voices
in your head.

Autumn moon
lighting up the
purple sky -
along with
lesser lights
watching as I
lost my mind.

All the stars
were in her eyes -
every cosmic cluster
glimmering,
dimming,
then falling
in the night.

Constellations
poured across
her pretty face.
Recklessly,
they’d crash -
splashing on
the ground,
then were gone
without a trace.

Her tender hand
consoled the
pieces left of me -
I just knew the
falling stars would
be the death of me.

Guess I'll settle
for the knock off,
tell everyone
I tried, and
throw my stones
into this ocean
till it decides to
change the tide.

Life was easy
when you were
around,
but I was slowly 
sinking d                        
               o                      
               w                    
                n..                
         Now it's hard,  
         but I'm healing.

Day after day, I rivel.
Who knows for how long?
Reduced to mere survival
screaming it’s selfish undertone.
Aspiration is long forgotten
If I live, to what avail?
Despair darkens my demeanor
Time and time again, I fail.
Compassion is now contended;
Making less sense than it did before
And those who are offended
break the hinges off my door.
Disappointment - my adornment
as if I’m capable of more..
If only they knew the torment
that is relentless at my core.  
Wisdom only mocks me.
She dances around my doom
singing, “Here lies a foolish boy
who followed freedom to his tomb.”
Now I’m cast to raging seas;
A boat beaten by an angry wave;
unanswered cries like pleas
from crows that cry above my grave.

Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?

Ah, Lord, You know.
But I am left to wonder why
every attempt to be the hero
turns to ashes when I die.
All this foolishness will follow
as I lay down and return to dust
and time is sure to swallow
all these fallacies I trust.

Day 1: not so bad.
Day 2: my body moves without permission.
Day 3: nope.
Day 4: took the bait.
Day 1: massive headache.  
Spat the bait out.
Day 2: not too bad.
Day 3: the toilet seat is so cold.
Day 4: Icy hot doesn't work.
Day 1:  kids are cool.

And just like that, it's over -
like it didn't even happen.
Traded the rest of his life
for a half a gram - went out
noddin' like he was nappin'..
My heart cries for the family,
Aaron, I miss you, fam.
And, if I could, you know I'd
buy you back for that half a gram.

Just like that, gone forever..
Like he was never here,
a sudden change of weather
we often see this time of year.
My heart cries for your kid,
I'll never forget you, man.
Why men would rather ****
than build, I'll never understand..

Just like that, forgotten..
The girl had gotten sober
Bought some birthday
presents and ******
and just like that - its over.
My heart cries for your baby
Carrie's never coming back.
I wonder if she wore the
bracelet I gave her when
she faded into black.

Just like that, we're praying..
for God to heal our hurt..
a few words about his life and
then we chunked him in the dirt..
I tried to tell you, Bill David..
That girl would get you killed..
Look to God to do the healing
You just be the one who's healed.

Don't let the dirt of despair
dull your shine, little diamond.
God's been good to you, too.  
Who said it was over?  
Who told you it'd always
be like this?
Who said you're a toxic person?
And how do they know?  
They don't.  
Shake those expectations.
Dance in the rain.
Shine in the dirt.
Do you, diamond.

Drowning in the white
waters of his own rage,
He stared a vacant
stare that could never
give light - only drink it
like a barren desert
growing desperate
for a few drops of rain.

That kind of stare can
only look inward
toward the stinging
and distorted
memories -
never peering out into
the suger-coated  
sub-reality (the
monotonous practice
of model living) -
his vision obscured by
the traumatic scenes
of a nightmarish movie
playing in repetition -
bearing down on his
consciousness and
becoming all the more
vivid and consequential.

The contrast of her
soft-spokenness seems
to mock him - and so
he rages..

We're, every one,
just as afraid as the other
Afraid of each other
The only brave souls
are those who confess it
and are least compromised.

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.

Genuine like a child
Candid like an open book
Exotic like The Wild
Reassuring like a second look

Heart heavy and hard as stone
Swore she’d never be alone
Wore the stone around her neck
Made every man a nervous wreck

He left a letter on the dresser
addressed to whom it may concern.
It read "Never falter under pressure
before the tides can take their turn.
Everything is dying -
The likes of man and all his pleasure.
From paper planes we're flying
to the wooden chests of treasure.
But one Truth will always stand
long after the last word here is spoken:
There's always been a heavenly hand
to heal the heart that's broken."

He stumbled to the edge of town
and fell into the water’s rough -
held all his breath while going down
till there was none to come back up.

She had a
sailor's mouth,
pretty lips,
and lots of flaws
for me to fix.  

And she wore them
all in front of me
like a fur coat
with the collar up.

We swore we'd run it
till the wheels fell off
and when they did,
(because they always do)
we concluded that bad things
happen to good people.

But we were wrong
and justifiably so -
for who could stand against
the arrogance of youth?

And now that the enamel has
long been worn from our teeth
and vibrance faded like the
hues of our hair, we stand corrected:
For each renders his own suffering.
Some to bring us up..
Some to tear us down,
but it's all for the good of things.  

It was given by God that a man
should suffer for his own actions,
but not for demise, cynical observer,
but that he should learn and become.

What I wanted to say
remains confined inside
a bitter heart broken
by what could've been -
held captive by a mere
mention of the weather.

There was no good ending.
No "happily ever after".
No redemption in our story.
We were just a childish love
driven by infatuation.

What we called "love" was
carried away by the
butterflies in our bellies.
What we called our "future"
has faded with all the
pleasant memories of us-
And now it's like it never
happened.. it was all
fabricated and fantasized
like the words I wanted to say.

Worn-out photos lay
Scattered and without substance
Nagging memories
----
A half-hour till dawn
My wounded heart still bleeding
Stale remorse and tears

What a divided people -
like an eagle with wounded wings
lost in a consumer world
chasing shadows of silly things.
The downside of "prosperity"
and we're sliding down fast -
like every other puffed-up
political power in the past.
This is what it looks like to
have entirely too much -
ravaged in the heat of battle
with ghosts we can't see or touch..
Bathing in lavish luxury..
steeped to our necks with waste -
defending sinking sand castles and
casting stones through cyberspace.
The dawn of a new age and
everyone is entitled to an opinion.
Everybody and nobody's wrong,
and many words are ways of winning.
The implosion of a nation,
but it's all the government, right?
No need to blame consumers
fueling fires we claim to fight.
What a divided people -
like an eagle with wounded wings
lost in a consumer world
chasing shadows of worldly things.

Dodging peopled places
and their stabbing stares;
bleeding fear and self hatred-
no one seems to care..

I bite my lip a little more
in every public place
hoping I can make it out alive
before they see my face.
I wasn’t always self-aware-
at least, not to the extent
of holding ransom every word
until I validate intent..

Who are you?..
Have you lost your mind?
No one believes you anymore
when you say "I'll be fine."
Afraid of looking in the mirror;
I’m just not the man I know.
Somehow, it seems I’ve traded
faces with my fiercest foe.

Who are you?
Have you been here before?
Just a couple thousand times-
perhaps a thousand more..
I want to run away-  
just as fast as I can run
from everything I've known or felt -
the broken man I have become.

Where will you go?
What will you do?
You can run away from them,
but you can't run from you..

Dodging peopled places
and their stabbing stares;
bleeding fear and self-hatred-
no one seems to care..

With folded arms on my windowsill,
I gaze at a starlit sky so still.
Amidst the awe of wishful wonder,
A question, there, I pose and ponder:
If the autumn moon that gives such light
were the eye of He who gave me sight,
would He not see a sheep asleep
while children die and mother's weep?
And if glimmering stars were angel bands
that laid to waste a wasteful man,
would I not pray that they be blind
to those I've harmed or left behind?

With folded arms on my windowsill,
I saw a tree in the farmer's field
The winter winds had stripped the oak
And, as I believed, I thought and spoke:
If winter winds, in all their might,
lay bare the oaks and fold their height,
then gone would be the leaves of deeds
that hide my thoughts of lust and greed.
And if trees that grow and bear their fruit
were saints that live and speak the truth,
then I would be a withered tree
with bitter fruit and wilted leaves.

Gusts of warm wind blow
gracefully through oak branches
Distant thunder roars
-----
A busy boy turns
toward the darkening clouds
waiting for the rain

He staggered to
the med-line
and wept bitterly
from his soul
for the hope,
he feared, he'd
never find to fill
that gaping hole.
Somewhere in the
sands of time,
a boy plays at
his father's feet -
when happiness
didn't cost a dime
and he danced to
a different beat.
But that was
years ago -
the song had ended
much too fast.
He refused the meds,
walked real slow, and
cradled his playful past.

I waited for you -
down by the Woodbine
house on Kendrick Avenue.
I must've told myself 
a thousand times
that, when you arrive,
I'd be just fine -
sitting on the stoop
collecting thoughts
like puddles of rain.

Occassionally, a car
would pass, thrashing
through the puddles
slashed interrupting my
hopeful mind with violent
doubt...

I waited for you -
denying every reasonable
thought and holding on
to my childish dreams.

I'm still waiting for you -
Though hope has long
become desperate denial.

I'll wait for you..