If I die before i awake
I pray the lord my soul to take
To forgive me for all my mistakes
And bring me up and show me the good,
Keep me warm and shelted and feed me food
Forgive me for some of the choices ive chosen
And that sometimes my thoughts become frozen
My mind become hung up on beinign issues,
And a end up tell her "i miss you"
My guiding light is always there,
To help me with any nightmare,
Lord if i die before i awake,
Id trade my soul to make sure its hers you take.
She is the one with a golden heart,
Shell help with any problem no matter what,
Though she may have had a tough start,
Shes been a caring shoulder and nothing but.
Its her that i look towards to help me out,
To pick me up and tell me what lifes about,
But lately somethings changed and it tares me up,
Shes felt sad and lost and out of place,
Shes had many tears go rollin down her face.
I want to help her like shes helped me,
I want to make it so she can see,
I want her to see the beauty she holds,
The beauty that i see every time my eyes close,
So please help me open her eyes,
Please help me show there is no lie,
It is all truth whenever I'm with her,
Every word i say is said with no pressure,
She may think I'm joking but it is all the same,
I want her to see that I'm not just bein lame.
Shes the glue that holds me together,
No matter what the weather.
Now its my turn to help her,
My turn to be her lighthouse in the storm,
To save her from her saddened form,
My guiding light the roles have changed,
Im now your beacon but everything else is the same,
We will both use each other to stay oh so strong,
And we will get through any type of wrong,
Listen to these words with all seriousness,
Im going to help you there is no atest,
My arms wide up run into them,
No one can hurt us when its us against them.
So lord here these words and grant my wish,
Help me guide her and ill me set.

Together in a surrealists dream, we smile and joyfully connect with content, beautiful and alive in our hearts electromagnetic tent. Causually but with purpose we persuade dreams to manifest, we are perveyors of magic to this our souls can atest.

I leave you here now with but one little notion, together as one drinking this textual potion. Let yourself shine and be one with your kind, embrace the light and sing with the devine. Be proud of who you are and honest with your mind. Stay true to your heart and love is what you'll find.

silence is what i heard when you slid into our bed
coldness is what i felt when you kissed my head
the distance between us is no mistake as the pillows can atest
my head turned, looking at the wall, wondering
remember me when you lay in his arms
as the tears creep down your cheeks
the guilt is yours, not mine anymore
i have made my plea for forgivness to you
i guess revenge is not your style

When the lie becomes the truth

When the lie becomes the truth,

in that moment are you living your true
authentic you.

In that moment you empowered  yourself

to reach and dream the impossible.

  You conquer mountain's, and you tamed lions,

you walked slowly barefooted on the scorched earth.

Let me atest,  that person is actually you !

it's just the you that you never knew...

What do I do
Write another poem, first in months to grace my pen
Scream the same three songs I've always sung until my worries end
But I've sung those songs a thousand times, my throat it will atest
My poetry is without passion, my muse cliche at best
Of all the things i'm “good”at
I’m only best at one
Thus I look inside my hollow chest
At the only prize I've won

All our worldly concerns like “dress to impress”
Aren’t as compelling as one might
Suggest.
All of our tongues from which flavors burn
Cool for a moment if only to
Atest.
We love ourselves, but is there room
For anybody else?

We wonder and we wander, so conflicted, so
Consumed. Is there room?
Is there room for space beneath a blockade?
Is there room for a resource once we’ve failed to trade?
Is there room for a skylight? Is there room for a window?
Is there room for a fence? For a garden? A train?
Is there room for a crashing—even room for a plane?
For a little apprehension in discreetness, pretention refined?
For uncertainty to seize and sketch a new line?

Is there room for a golf course with no goals to score?
Is there room for a surplus? A healer? A sore?
Is there room for transitions, abrupt and alive?
Is there room for a smooth one to sweeten the hive?
Is there room for my words not to speak, but to be?
Is there room for an actress? A worker? A me?

(Is there room for me?
Could you please save room for me?)

Is there room for my cruelty, my ugliness, dreams?
Is there room for my whispers, my slyness, my screams?
Is there room for expressions that paint out my face?
Is there room for the wisdom of the ambigui—vague?

Is there room for a melting of gray?
And the paintings of landscapes
To blur, glisten, fade?

Is there room to be together? Is there room to be alone?
Is there room for distant travels or an inconsistent home?
Is there room to be a “know-it-all”? Is there room to be agnostic?
Is there room to be the dullest point? Is there room to cool the caustic?
Is there room to stand untainted? Is there room to take abuse?
Is there room to fake it ‘till you make it’? Is there room to praise misuse?

Is there room?

Is there room for spoken bits of hardships, easiness unsaid?
Is there room to catch a net of life? Is there room to render dead?
Is there room to illuminate the sinner
Or to cultivate the sister?
Is there room to watch time’s thickness grow?
Is there room to question, room to know?

Is there room?

And could we please
Move soon?

What do you do up there
on your podium so high?

Do you ever falter, or cry
at the witnesses story?
Or do you just listen
to all the details,
may they be ghastly, fearful, or gory?

Do you feel for the accused
or ever sympathize,
with a ******
who gouged out his own fathers eyes?

Yes, what happens
in your mind
in that podium so high?
Is it a of chess
when the witenesses atest?

Do you care for us,
do you sympathize, or
do you live up in the sky
in your podium
so high

The Title of me is me and a title
not me entitled
harlequins aping disrespect are
thee without self-respect
waltzing in stunted dulled minds
they somersault in self-deciet
unable to atest or own
real equality is from thee sublime
to thou sublime unseasoned
the voiceless glory of reason et grace
unlike the blunt tools
the roosters who flare and pirouette
chicken wings agape
puffed in chicken dance ridicule
look y'all
we rule the roost around our cages
( perhaps till the Colonel from Kentucky arrives)

Who needs to prove aimless strength
but the weak et doubtfuls
who rattles the sabre but the poltroon
in his father's barrack
do cults print postage stamps et currency
when its merely a refuge
for similarly affected densed in private signals
hark ye go drink from wisdom's well
raging at Title is accepting your inferiority
your shadow boxing is confirmation
Dignity confidence self assurance and grace
will look you straight in the eyes
and say
I am civil and will treat you fairly and equally
and on merit  till you show me otherwise

But we know you cannot do as such
and how we laugh and indulge
for lacking in self respect and self assurance
the Title dominates your minds and spirit
and with little or no merit
all you can manage is puff out hollow chests
huffing and puffing
doing the chickens dance at the Republican Disco
in aid of the socially weak ******* maim and dumb
and confirming in all your intents and purposes
you can never be privileged
except only by others like you not by one as THEM....