Our minds are corrupted
Our hearts are dull
Our souls have been taken
Far beyond a wall
We are stopped far away
No one thinks its okay
So secrets we keep
We lie to ourselves
For no reason other
Than people think we'll go to hell

Everyone knows
Everyone sees
No one cares
No one believes

I could not believe my luck
To finally find a friend.
We could have taken on the world together,
I never wanted it to end.

Something had to come along and change it.
I know where we went wrong.
We both wanted to be in the same band,
But we both wrote differents songs.

We broke apart like clashing comets
Falling from out of the sky.
I guess inside I always knew
That I could never be your guy.

It wasn't that I lacked self-confidence.
It was not even that I felt shame.
We understood what the other meant.
But, the thing we wanted was the same.

I would have bet my heart on you.
But I could never live a lie.
For a while there, life was a party,
How the time flew by!

You drifted back into my world,
I was drifting far from mind.
About the time I was fragmenting,
Saturn was about to unwind.

Like a stone, I catapulted into the world.
I ricocheted liked a silver ball.
I was making up for lost time.
I would rise, then I would fall.

The colors melded hotly
As I did crash and burn.
The cynicism came with ease,
With every lesson I did learn.

I settled into my routine.
I cooled as I slowed down.
I looked you up to say hello,
And I miss having you around.

I cannot believe my luck.
That you still are my friend.
Sing your songs and tell me stories,
Like you did way back when.

Why ask why I like your poem? Be courageous in your ideas and ideals. Be confident enough to know that your work is true to your vision. Artists of all kinds, but especially poets, are the philosophers and prophets of their generation. A revelation does not passive-aggressively seek to be worthy. It just is. Revelators, in the converse, often are compelled to seek praise with false humility via the age old pretentious depreciation of the value of their work in order to reap praise, which is the expected polite response. It is a waltz I choose to sit out. I feel it is less than honest and a disrespect to the poet and the poem to revel in such frivolity. Write for the sake of revelation, not for the accolades of topical praise. It is no business of the poet why a poem strykes chords with a reader. Simply allow it to happen. Talent and truth are not always equatable, nor are beauty and integrity always comparable. In the heart, a poet knows he is a poet. By the very construct of your words, Poet, may you be the caster of many spells. Thank-you for sharing a bit of yourself with me. I bid thee Love and Light.

You stopped by to see me on your way out of town.
You said you were headed west because the locals were bringing you down.
As you sat across from me,
I looked into your eyes.
Then it hit, how much I'd miss my friend, as we said our good-byes.

I stood on the darkened sidewalk beneath a lamp that wasn't lit,
As you drove your car away from me,
My heart broke a little bit.
I would never tell a young man never to explore,
Because nobody could have held me back in my days of yesteryore.

A piece of me feels envy.
I'm no longer a young man.
If I were, then I would be with you,
Hand in loving hand.

Maybe once in a while think of me, When. like a stallion, you roam free.
When you kiss the pretty ponies,
Give a kiss for me.
As you blaze your fiery trail until you reach the ocean shore,
Remember that my heart is with you
And shall be evermore.

Today,
A woman in Afghanistan walked into her bedroom.
She poured a gallon of gasoline
on herself
and lit a match.
She set herself on fire
and collapsed on the bed
burning her husbands sheets
and melting her skin to the mattress.

She was screaming
and hoping
he would smell her death long after she went up.