I know the pain you feel is deep,
your want from life is simple peace.
And though I cannot guarantee,
please listen closely, as I speak.

Presently you stroll alone,
searching for a hand to hold.
You feel your sorrow in your bones,
in harshest sun, you still feel cold.

Pre - dawn, however, is darkest night
that must be followed by morning light.
I pray you won't give up the fight,
the universe will set things right.

I know at times, it seems unclear
that happiness is always near.
But wholly I believe my dear,
someday soon, you'll find some cheer.

Why do you people
think it so despicable,
that I won't share my time
on occasions in which
I'm particularly ******* miserable
I'll give you my reciprocal,
I don't need your help
I'm strong as an individual.
And I do not, intend to be critical,
but too many choose to use emotion,
over thinking that's analytical
That's why i need to be alone,
Both mental and physical,
It's kind of a ritual, interaction is minimal
It's never been personal, it's more of a principle
I hope you'll find it forgivable,
I am sorry,
But I'm strong as an individual.

I have never allowed myself to abide
by the unfortunate misgivings of
censors and their hollow minds.
I love to abusively use the word ****,
and every time I see you with your kids,
I light one up.
Blow smoke in their ****** faces,
then I'll tell your innocent little *******
about the last time I was completely wasted.
See I'm morally opposed to all forms of censorship.
That's why I drive drunk, three stogs in my mouth
and I answer honest when your wee kiddies question it.
"Sir, what's the white powder you have upon your face?"
"That? Oh no worries my little brother
that's just a bit of *******."
At some point, I think I lost societal membership
all due to my personal policy.
Simply, **** censorship.

It never was that I loved a cigarette,
more than you.
Just that I knew every morning,
when I rolled over,
my smokes would still be on the nightstand.
But your keys would be gone.

I miss you,
when the wind flows like music
through the trees.
And I hear it as I once did your laughter.
I miss you,
when the sun sets
and I see it as I once did your smile
beneath your now sorrowed eyes.
I miss you,
when the stars hang high
and I find myself cold and alone in the dark,
for lack of your warmth.
But I miss you most at night,
when I wake up in an empty bed
searching for what's not there.

I remember climbing out my window,
skulking off into a violent blizzard.
Lost in teenage anguish,
my feet carried me forward through the storm.
Two a.m. and a mile I out I realize,
I'm walking towards her house
Panic slammed my body like a tidal wave,
my nerves vibrated,
shaking the bitter cold.
I carried on determined.
No plan of action,
just full of **** and vigor and something...
Something I hadn't yet known.
The walk up her street is done with tremendous effort,
like swimming in jello.
Standing outside her house,
I'm suddenly aware of another obstacle.
I don't have a cell-phone.
Which window is her room?
Assuming it's upstairs, this is fifty - fifty you sonofabitch.
Take the risk.
I throw a small stone but hear it explode like a firecracker on the window.
Silence.
I reach for another when a soft voice calls my name.
We stand in the street and talk for a while,
holding one another.
I'm sorry, I can't stay, they probably know I'm gone.
I just... I just wanted to say goodbye
I walked backwards the whole way down the street.
Streetlights and snowfall created an amber aura around her.
That,
was the first time I knew what love was.
Sometimes I think it was the last time, too.

She was a Black Rose.
A beautiful rarity,
and the essence of despair,
all at once.

I'm drunk on Rebellion bourbon,
and I can't help but think,
what a ******* brand name man!
Coming from a cynical, sadistic,
sometimes near maniacal *******,
That's the kinda **** I wanna hear.
Start the rebellion!
******* A right I will.
I'll down this bottle and go off into the night,
my teeth sharpened
and a razor under my tongue.
A bottle full of gasoline,
a pocket full of matches.
I'll set fire to the village,
and watch as the fire dances.
Burn mother *******!
Then I'll hit the bar,
the next town over...
Continuing my little mission,
I haphazardly target victims,
Then incinerate 'em with powerful words,
If I fail to defile minds I'm setting teeth to curb.
Eventually the police will show,
too late.
I've already slipped out the backdoor
and skipped town.
Confident that I can start a riot before I pass out.
I figure eventually on me these crimes they'll try to pin it.
I'll sit back uncommonly calm and tell 'em the bourbon did it.

I am emphatically flawed.
I will make mistakes,
I'll be distant and difficult.
Things will rarely if ever,
be "perfect."
But I will always come back to you,
with a sad smile and soft voice,
and the most heartfelt of apologies.

On occasion I will be incredulous.
I'll question your actions,
and your motive.
I'll **** near border on paranoia.
But I'm easily proven wrong,
it won't take much to re-build my confidence.

I may very likely disappear,
from time to time.
I'm an enigmatic rambler,
and a vagabond.
I won't often buy you roses.
But I will show up after days in the wilderness,
with a heart full of love,
and a whiskey bottle stuffed full of wildflowers...

They say,
old habits die hard.
Don't I know it.
I put down the bottle for a while,
picked it back up.
Older now, more refined.
Bourbon,
instead of the cheap rot gut,
of my youth.
It all kills you in the end.
Still can't go out in public.
Teeth grinding,
Who's the enemy?
Who's the snake in this crowd?
Do I have my weapon?
Constantly clutching leather bound steel,
haven't needed the blade,
in a long time,
but must always be ready.
Marlb menthols,
pack a day, at least.
Smoke one to take the edge off,
there's always an edge.
Serial monogamist,
constantly striving for love,
hopeless romantic.
Hopelessly falling for women so venomous,
they could teach vipers,
a thing or two.
Picked up
a couple new ones but,
the old habits die hard

Almost everyone's heard the old adage,
"You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink."
I believe this to be surely among,
the truer of truths.
The question I'm forced to pose however,
is does this mean you should in fact
not lead the horse at all?
I feel many in the world today would say yes!
**** the horse!
Personally,
I'll always show him the way if I know it.
Sure,
I can never force him into getting what he needs,
but in the least,
it could never hurt to point.

True criminal, I sold my soul and stole it back.

I don't claim,
to have an abundance of accurate knowledge.
I know I've too much yet to learn.
However,
after a bit of experimentation,
after years of trial and error,
I do think I've come to find one truth.
No one is ever what you expect.
Fewer yet,
are what you need.
They key I've come to find,
that one piece that makes the puzzle fall together,
is to find someone who makes your soul quiet,
but your heart scream.

I know,
ten dollar bottles of whiskey
and cartons of Marlboros,
are certainly a way to accelerate my untimely demise.
But women,
now that'll be the death of me.
Underneath the drunken stupor
behind the walls of smoke;
I'm fragile as any fabric.
I can only be cut and sewn so many times...
Alas,
as with all my vices;
the whiskey,
the drugs,
the cigarettes,
I'll dive head first into the next one.
Give it my all.
Take it or leave it,
you'll have the best and worst of me.
And when you leave it,
I'll sew myself back together,
just one more time...
And it'll be on to the next one,
until I die.

Who would have thought,
How merciless a beast we could create.
Sure,
The weapons are scary,
But **** if that ring doesn't terrify.
Who's sighing?
Who's crying?
Who's dead?
At least you can be certain,
Of what's at the bottom of a barrel.
Unfortunately,
You never know,
Who or what,
Is at the end of the telephone.

They tell me "Don't be bitter,"
"Cuz son we were the victors!"
But still my anger simmers,
I just can't find the cause.

Can't ever close my eyelids,
All I'll see is violence,
and many good men dying,
When will these nightmares stop?

Back home, there's no hope there,
The people do not care,
they all just stop and stare,
My soul's forever gone.

I can't write tonight,
but I'll force a couple lines
and hope to see revealed
all the answers I'd like to find.
I can't fight tonight,
so I'll sit here and smoke.
If I can't forget my sorrows
perhaps I can make 'em choke.
Just full of strife tonight
and all alone I wallow.
So I'll just grab another,
I'm seeking company in bottles.
I can't write tonight...

Hi, **. Hi, **!
It's off to work I go.
Chewing on some coffee grounds
and choking down my smokes.
Hi, **. Hi, **!
It's time to start the show.
I'll attach a cordial mask
and leave my brain at home.
Hi, **. Hi, **!
Oh say it isn't so.
This place will be the death of me
and then they'll work my bones.

Hello, I am the salesman,
though no solid wares I vend.
You see I've come to hock some love,
to hearts long on the mend.
They say I have a way with words,
though modest, I remain.
If you'll stop and trade your time,
you've only peace to gain.
I'll take in all your troubles friend,
these shoulders can bear the load
and if it's faith in life you've lost
I've been known to peddle hope.
So stop and start to barter,
I'll show you all the world is fine.
No worries if you're hurried now,
I can bottle joy like wine.

Once I had a garden,
built to spite my constant gloom.
I planted hope and happiness,
those seeds will never bloom.
I had hoped that all the rain,
would see the ground be rich.
But it seems my little cloud
has only proven to restrict.
Now within my garden,
but one lonely flower grows.
The oddest rose I've ever seen,
with petals made of bones.

Be kind,
For at least once in your life the kindness you show, will make a monumental difference, for whom you showed it to.
Be flexible,
The tides of life will twist and turn you many ways, you must bend with them.
Be soft,
many will tell you only a thick skin will get you through, but it is only with soft hands that you can nurture broken hearts.
Be patient,
a short fuse will only put you in a deep hole.
And perhaps,
Most importantly,
Be open minded,
so that you will never hold back any of the above, because of what you think, but don't know.

They never did,
Get it right.
The wiring inside my head.
Some switches flip far to quickly,
Some it seems,
Not at all.
I've come to accept it though.
I can't exactly get in there,
And I've never been much,
Of an electrician.
But hey!
That wiring is me.

If you took a razor and with it tore this carpet up.
I'm certain you'd be sure to find a brief but well-worn rut.
For now it's rather shallow, a furrow most discreet.
Time flows only forward though, as do my weary feet.
The days slip through my fingers, like so many grains of sand.
The hourglass is broken, life just wasn't what I planned.
I waste my nights just pacing, my steps fall heavy on the floor.
This rut will be the solemn tale, of the weight my shoulders bore.

I knew a wolf who dressed like sheep
with smiling eyes and hidden teeth.
Calmly through the flock he'd step.
Preaching life, and meaning death.

Once upon a dreary day,
he found a lamb who'd gone astray.
Lined with silver was his tongue,
a spectacle for one so young.

Nearly at the speed of light,
the wolf sprang forth and made his strike.
And not a sheep would hear the crunch,
of the wolf, enjoying lunch.

I've been contemplating suicide,
as of late.
Not your standard,
bullet to the brain,
ending ones physical existence,
type of suicide.
No,
I'm considering something... more direful.
I'm going to commit a writers' suicide.
I'll start by deleting my various internet caches,
like the bat of an eye they'll all disappear.
Blink, blink, blink!
For extra measure,
I'll stick an Ice pick through this computer,
then sink it,
in the lake.
I'll follow that up,
by dissolving my pens in a vat of acid.
To the wood chipper!
Go the pencils.
I'll have a bonfire,
burn all the physical text I have,
and every single scrap of blank paper,
within reach.
To finish it off,
I'll break my thumbs,
pull out my own tongue.
Is a writer really alive,
without his word?

From a high pass in the Adirondacks,
I once gazed upon
the first tendrils of dawn,
bursting forth from hills beyond
to snake their way through
a rolling forest.
Setting it ablaze
with a magnificent rainbow of color.
Finally settling upon a small lake,
far below.
And as I watched the sun
breathe warm life into this beautiful,
secluded landscape
I thought
"She was far more alluring,
than the wonder I behold before me,
but,
At least this is a memory,
I can keep."

This is an ode, to words.
All the ******* beautiful words in existence.
At the end of the day,
the words are all we've ****** got!
The words are what separate us from the animals!
The words are life! And they are also death.
That's why you gotta fight for 'em, man,
bleed for 'em.
At some point in your life, someones gonna tell you,
"Hey! You can't say that! That's wrong, indecent, inappropriate!"
And you'll have to tell them,
"******* man! They're my words. I'll say which ones I please. You won't censor me, *******"
Oh they'll fight too, the *******.
They'll try to bully and beat and bribe your words outta you!
They know the words have power, but so do you.
That's why you can never surrender.
You may die kicking and screaming but ******* it,
you'll have your words to the very end!
They say, "Actions speak louder than words."
I say *******!
I say, "Words, are the inspiration for actions."
It is,
all.
about.
the words.

I like to think I've seen,
my fair share of life.
A city man,
sculpted of concrete and steel.
My years on this earth may be yet,
short.
That life however,
opened my eyes to much.
I know about the lows of man,
about how far some of us will stoop.
About what it means to survive.
But,
You dragged me,
drunk and complaining,
out into the hills.
You sat me in the back of your truck,
and you showed me the stars.
I don't know if it was the urban lighting,
that burns eternally,
or just that I'd never looked.
But you showed me the stars that night,
in all their luminescent glory.
I will never forget that.

Farewell, dear friend, this will be our last goodbye.
Laugh at smiles shared my friend, for me you should not cry.
Fought my battles, some won some lost, but finally it's time.
To say our last farewells, old friend, this is our last goodbye.

I know of a place,
where it only rains ash.
The sun doesn't shine,
it was swallowed en masse.
By an ominous void,
that's now stifled the grass.
I'm loathe to return,
but I'll lead you if asked.

We'll journey on over,
to death's little home.
Where graves fill the fields,
in neat little rows.
Not a songbird in sight,
just cackling crows.
Nor will flowers you see,
where the bone roses grow.

I write my lines in a corner of this dimly lit bar,
unnoticed.
People float around me like fireflies,
little sparks in the darkness
unaware of their own illumination.
I take every ember
and stoke a fire that holds me over,
for the night.
I don't need permission,
to perpetuate my own existence.
I trade what little I know freely.
Only hoping for inspiration,
one more poem,
one more line,
just one more word.
If you drop it I'll pick it up,
no need to feel indebted.
For every word I leave I know,
the world is better than when I met it.

Long were pen and pad,
neglected.
When sprang a muse!
Most unexpected.
A shock to find our thoughts connected,
myself I thought alone,
dejected.
Soon my hand,
was strong affected,
to see my aimless thoughts directed.
Despite the fact, I oft objected,
She's seen my words and prose projected.
So to a muse, one most respected.
I thank you Arlo!
For inspiration,
Resurrected.

I'll show you all the cracks,
in your feeble facade.
Just shortly before I see it erased,
with psychological grenades.
Don't you know?
I've got x-ray eyes,
They see into your heart
and find the skeletons you hide.
I don't require knives to see you filleted,
I'll verbally split your middle,
expose your doubts and your shames.
I'll flush out every fallacy,
stop the production.
My words and my mind will see your destruction.

It's funny how
lack of sleep will hit you.
It's six in the morning,
and I,
I'll tear up at almost anything now.
All sense of sanity
hindered by delirium
but I think of you.
Maybe I'm insane,
maybe I'm delusional,
but at six in the morning,
I still love you.

Never had I witnessed yin and yang,
in more tangible form.
One came in like a fire *******!
A bright flash and a bang you couldn't help but enjoy.
Then with a passion,
she'd gush in obvious pride
over the delicately crafted treasures before her.
The other blew in like the wind,
soft and mellow.
With an easy voice she spoke of her craft,
as if only natural,
a person could weave wire in such intricacy.
It was a beautiful equilibrium to behold
and something I'll always hold onto.

I sit alone at night
with tears held in my eyes.
I sit alone at night
and hope that I may die.

I know, that it's no good
I'll get nowhere at all.
But without my Shady Grove
I'm broken and I'm small.

Shady Grove's, my little love
Shady Grove I say.
Shady Grove's, my little love
I'm bound to go away.

I wish I had a golden pen
that could write all my lines.
I wish I had a golden pen
then Shady Grove'd be mine.

Cherry's in the summer time
apples in the fall.
If I can't have the girl I love
I won't have none at all.

Shady Grove's my little love
Shady Grove my friend.
Shady Grove's my little love
I'm leaving in the end.

Time flies when you're having fun?
*******, time flies when you're down and done.
Time flies when you're dying inside.
When you're picking up the pieces and crying in need,
time leaves.
There's no time, to settle or ease.
There's no time, because time never sleeps.
There's no time, so don't beg and don't plead.
Time will leave you for dead.
Time left, and it doesn't care about the time that you spent.
You're going through the motions and you're barely alive but,
time flies when you're dying inside.

I'd searched many a day,
before I found what it was
that I wanted.
The first night I went to bed with her at my side,
and rested easily.
That was when I knew.
All I had ever wanted was some place,
or someone,
that made me feel like I was
home.

Some people,
are nearly indescribable.
But too prominent in the mind,
not to make the attempt.
I guess,
I guess I'd say she walked like sunshine,
and spoke like rain.
Where she strolled it was warm,
all the evidence could be seen in the people she met.
No one walked away without a smile.
When she spoke,
they all listened.
A gentle voice that hit you like soft drops,
in the summer.
Walking away I felt like I was watching the sun set;
disappointed in the loss of light,
but happy in knowing I'd witnessed something beautiful.

Even when I was young,
I knew things,
perceived things you didn't think I could.
I knew it was time to stop talking,
when that distant look suddenly crept into your eyes.
I knew it meant you weren't really there anymore,
you'd traveled back in time.
I learned quickly,
there are some things you don't ask a man.
Ever.
As I've grown I've learned more,
still probably without your knowing.
I know when you attempt sleep,
memories you've learned to shroud from light of day,
spring forth and reign terror on your dreams.
A grotesque cinematic beyond my imagining,
yet all too real.
I know why you struggle with people,
and with crowds.
I know to you,
anyone and anything could be an enemy, a hazard.
I know to this day you see blood on your hands.
I wish you knew your sons do not.
I know when you look in the mirror you see a monster.
A younger you, with hollow eyes
and as you once so eloquently said,
"A smile that speaks, of death delivered"
I wish you knew,
to your sons you stand a warrior.
Tried but unbroken.
I know you didn't want to go.
I know a part of you died there.
I can hardly fathom,
how deep it cut to return home labeled a murderer, and worse.
So much guilt already on your shoulders.
But I know you've never gotten over it.
I just wish there was a way to tell you,
it is not your fault.
You did the best you could,
you did what you had to do.
Maybe someday you'll understand,
You are not what happened there.
Maybe someday I'll find a way to tell you,
The war is over, dad. Come Home.

No matter how hard I try to deny it,
people are beautiful.
I used to focus only on our misgivings,
our malice.
No longer;
for I have seen the balance.
We as human beings,
are capable of all extremes.
One or another of us will reach them.
But we will always equilibrate.
Fear not my dear friends,
you will find your way out of despair.
Do justice onto whom you replace.
You will find hope again; spread it on/.

Couldn't even spell Camus,
you illiterate ****,
not to mention you never heard of my dudes,
Hesse and Chuck.
I've roamed expanse, of Middle Earth,
watched sun sets, from Martian perch.
You poor *******, can't comprehend
the tortured lives Of Mice and Men.
Fail to grasp the beauty
in Ray Bradburys' words
and you'll probably never know
how Dresden Germany burned.
When "Something Wicked, This Way Comes"
you'll hardly know just where to run.
As Billy P. learned "So it goes"
Soon you too, will come to know
A strange thing I have gleaned from friend,
just "Poo - tee - weet" can mark the end.

It's easy to say,
You're a "good" father.
Much harder yet,
To prove it.
Mine,
Mine never failed.
**** a mailman,
Rain, sleet or snow?
Drive one hundred and fifty miles,
With the flu,
And talk to me of loyalty,
Of dedication.

When I get up at night,
and I'm looking for a light,
thoughts of you start spinning in my head.
I look up at the stars,
and I wonder where you are
but I know it doesn't matter in the end.

You left so long ago,
I think of where you've roamed.
I know it's for the better that you're on this earth.
Do you ever speak of me,
with the people that you meet?
Does a single one of them know what you're worth?

I hope that when you're cold,
and when you feel alone,
you remember when I promised you my heart.
Maybe you will view the sky,
and ponder just like I,
how long our paths are meant to stay apart.

I have a friend
who likes to tell me
that I have a calming aura
as his litter of stray kittens
proceeds to envelop me
on my arrival.
As his dog lays at my feet.
Sometimes
I like to think he's right
that I exude peace and kindness.
Other times
I think maybe I just attract the sad and broken
the weak and needy.

I lost my heart,
have you seen it?
I set it down so often it got easier to leave it.
If you find it,
would you keep it?
It's a hardy little ***** despite the minor leakage.
A bit of thread,
perhaps a needle?
Really I think a little love is all that's needed.

Does the **** have any less a right to grow,
than the rose?
Does the moon love the sun for lending it light,
or envy it for the same?
Does the wind bear ill-will to the trees for the obstruction,
or does it thank them for the music?
Are we all in this world marching toward an end,
or back to the beginning?
These are the things that keep me awake at night.
These are the things that impede my dreams.

Another night alone,
another empty bottle and
another ****** poem.
Another pack of cigarettes,
another finished bowl.
Another way to deal with it,
another line of blow.