Following are most of the poems found in BlueSuburbia, or from my scrapbook. If you wish to see them in their intended interactive form then do visit the site. A couple of these interactive versions are also stand-alone pieces (such as Strange Dreams, and Angel).
For my non-rhyming social commentary click here.
To read my Haiku, Click here.
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Poems at the top are newest. This is regularly updated.

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Dandelion

Dandelion through a crack
She’s alone to color grey stone
I wonder… how she does it
She grows so above it
Even when no one loves it…
What’s her source of strength?
I wonder… it seems endless
When she goes through great lengths
Just to grow, just to show
Her blooming face in an unwelcoming place
Although stepped on everyday
Her head’s held high in the morning.

—

The Devil’s Shoes

“Do not pass judgement.” the Devil said to me. I stopped, mortified by disbelief.
For even if he was the Devil, he proposed, it wasn’t a fair thing to do until I walked in his shoes.
He pressed on me that he had his reasons. I was one. There was nothing he could do. Following well articulated accusations.

There he was, the Devil. My devil. He suffered not a shred himself, although the burden intolerable was mine.
At the cost of everything, every bit of life…
Spirit, hope, love, friends, dreams, faith, smile, future, strength, will to live and courage to heal.
Years… I lost count, the payment in tears.

Indeed he was the devil! Both villain and then the perfect victim who now demanded pity
And what a thing to ask of me; forgiveness?
The guilt was mine, I was told
In spite of all odds, I disbelieved him and fled his presence to seek freedom
He would get no more empathy, he would not have my soul!
I would not be made in his own image, nor walk a day in his shoes.

—

It seems easy to condemn, easier to hate
God save us before it’s too late
It’s what’s hurting us
Is love truly so hard?
We’ve already lost enough
It’s not utopian to ask
What choice do we have?
We’ve never tried giving it a chance
Just stop, start over, extend a helping hand
To brother, sister, fellow man
Human, breathing living being
Stop preaching, practice what you’re teaching
Christian, Atheist, Muslim, Palestinian, or Jew
We’ve sacrificed everything, what more is there to lose?
I am someone’s daughter, you are loved by someone too
If we stop today, we’ll have a future tomorrow
We all have experienced enough sorrow
It’s not unrealistic, the opposite is true
If we did, we might thrive, we might last
Perhaps I’m mad, sick, maybe it’s fate, it’s happening fast
But even if it takes us with it
Everything must end, including hate

—

Flowers In Her Hair

The girl with flowers in her hair,
She keeps smiling, she doesn’t care.
Ride into the village, she shouldn’t dare!
No place for her here,
No place for her there…
They throw rocks, they frown, they scowl,
Grab her by her flowing crown,
Throw her in a cage,
She’s the unwanted clown.
But she, with unbroken smiles,
Bright eyes, grinning cheeks,
She wears flowers in her flowing hair, you see.
She doesn’t belong here,
She will never belong there…
She will laugh, she doesn’t care!
She rides on, decorating her hair.

—

Maybe when it’s over I’ll have butterfly wings!
Maybe when it’s done it won’t appear quite as big…
Maybe someday it will all make sense, I think
And when I look back it will be so far away
That maybe, someday, when I wear a wing on each shoulder
With age, flattering wisdom, on a face that’s much older
Will I think nothing of something impossible now
Maybe, I hope, I’ll move on somehow…

—

Hope

Hope is that place of refuge
Where you go to assert
That things can get better
That they do, indeed, heal
A looking glass where you perceive
Far past how you feel.

Hope is the seed of virtue
Despite all hurt it soothes
Where what remains of faith will spark anew
As the soul declares, with newfound defiance,
A future away from present grief.

Hope as such that stars readily shine
For those willing to reach, a place divine
Light granted to courageous glances
One freely steels them from that crystal ball
Look clearly, and you’ll see it all
Unfettered, unshattered,
Hope to gather.

—

I’m out to either make it or break it
Determined to change this
Acts of desperation
Won’t see me used anymore
I won’t beg, or be bullied
I won’t suck it up, or see it ruin me
This was a life lesson to set me free
I won’t ever give up, so step aside
And, because I have all the rest of my life,
I know success will be mine!

Sleepless nights, or fruitlessly
Working for just another great man’s dream
All can teach that words have no merit
Leaders often lead by saying what they don’t mean
It’s self-abuse, I admit,
To test my tolerance with
But it’s the last that I’ve put myself through
So I’m pouring all hope into my own
And I know that I’ll see it bloom!

—

Snakes

Snakes in the grass, where my mind tends
To wonder just a bit too much, lately
Diverted attention, consequences I resent
I’m concerned about safety a little excessively, maybe
But it seems neither prayer nor savior will keep them at bay
I’ve run out of options, things to say, and ways to pray
So what will I do when the snakes start creeping again?
They’re wrapping around my legs
Dragging up my neck
How I wish to snap theirs instead
To peel off their skin and then
Grieve them to their bone till they’re dead
Make a trophy, victory to hang in my head!
If only you knew, but…
I’m helpless, just to see them writhing as they do
Wondering how long I’ll outlast those many, or remaining few
I’m at wits end, keeping my mind from wondering just where it tends
Perhaps I’ll flee or take another stand, but…
Just imagine how I’ll manage with them bound
Neatly about my legs and hand
Do I ignore them, let them be?
They make my stomach turn, it feels like fear
Will they go away with a blind eye, or deaf ear?
Maybe I should turn the last cheek?
Perhaps it’s what I get for being meek…
But I’ll have you know I’m not week!
It takes a stronger soul to be sweet
And no mater how great the evil
No mater how powerful the creeping foe
They’re no match for me, or my see-through soul
My heart is stronger for them, you see
There’s always a way out
Always a tomorrow if you count
The blessings today, now, or mixed all about
Grains of salt, and unsorted sand
Freedom isn’t forever but it is now
Neither is safety, and I know just how
Intimidating snakes can be
No cause for anxiety, perhaps not today
But I’ll leave it to momentary indiscretion
Keep calm and carry on, as they say
After all, it’s only another life lesson…
So I play pretend blind eyes to creeping could-bes
Where my mind tends to wonder too much lately.

—

Save Me A Place, Said The Caterpillar
(From Project: Robot Girl)

God, save me a place at the table
Heaven comes and hell can go
Chrysalis, metamorphosis
In strange death; change
Your appeal is sweet
No. I won’t bear any more
I’m carrying a heavy soul!
Peeling away grand lists of wrong
Swinging between what’s the use
Keeping count, and vowing counter-abuse
Grudges are a recipe for endless agony
Let it all go, burden and crutch
You know… I’m close enough
I can feel it, my place when I get there.
Disease you eat and eat too readily
Grief is a bottomless pit, really
If fact, it’s all consuming…
The world can be without me
Life can do unto one less
So save me a place at the table, God!
You know when I come I’ll be damn hungry.
Share joy away from here
Shower me with life, it’s fair to see
Break bread, tell tales far from disease
I’ll dance, sing, heavenly wings!
Because when change comes,
It’s a guest I’ll be ready to greet.
Disregard those glorious lectures concerning
None the wiser ethics on my belief
Do as you will because I’m not really human
All too sound advice, and critics of personality
Let them lecture, but lecture without me
Let it be, but be as it will without me
I feel divinely free in knowing
These wings will be worth showing
I’ll have lots to say in after-being
Story in plenty, you know, because it’s me
It couldn’t be easy, it had to be hard
And when things get dark, I’ll consider,
Said a hardened caterpillar;
Dear god, save me a place at the table,
I’ll be home in time for dinner.

Killing Mockingbirds

Killing mockingbirds
They ran out of firepower
And laid her to rest
Something I have to say
To get off my chest
You shouldn’t kill anything like this
Heavy artillery, sophisticated bigotry
A showman’s frenzy, all cleverly interject
Reasons to kill and to cage
They’re certainly strange
Nevertheless, a piece for each
Take what you can preach
Taken from a throbbing chest
Before they lay her to rest

It’s a lesson to teach
Killing mockingbirds is a sin
It’s not how you say it
Nor how you mean it
But how you show it
All mockingbirds know this
It’s a shame this is even said
You can see it in how they broke it
Deep is the punishment
It’s a capital crime, feathers show it
To pick on something so small
With a heart for all
Take it, you men boasting virtue,
In disregard that in all fairness is her’s too

By all means it’s a shame
We all know it’s a sin, so
Firepower to threaten, power to show
Caged wings that forfeit to sing
Little light of thine, let it shine
It’s a low blow, sing her hymn slow
But how deep does a bird’s punishment go?
The measurement’s quite precise,
Too deep to really know…
As bigot, showman, great leader,
Educated elitist and their teachers
All turned it into an art
But quiet murder like this out to be a sin
When it’s at the cost
Of mockingbird’s singing heart

A Poem…

This is a poem inspired by those hopeless moments
Transcending all impossibilities
When the very world collapses all about and underneath
It begs to ask
How deep does the heart go?
And how infinite is the soul?
Stripped apart and laid open
Like nothing is sacred anymore
I guess this is how Earth feels
And we’re all made in her image
When something remains and grows again
When things heal despite how they used to feel
When flowers crawl out from underneath
Rubble, cracks, and wasted leftovers
Somehow it refuses not to be
It insists on the very contrary
A divine spark of creation
Life after desolation

This poem is inspired by those hopeless moments
It begs the question
How strong is the spirit?
How deep does the heart go?
Some dying celebration, or divine revelation
Dwindling, somehow spirit refuses to go out
Like all of life it tends to survive
It tends to insist that it thrive
Rooted in a cosmic sea of possibilities
Somewhere, there are we
Coming to grips with being and let be

This is a poem inspired by those hopeless moments
The days just after grief
The place where things lost what they mean
And afterlife seems the better place to be
It subtly boasts
That there’s more than infinity to us
More than genocide could ever touch
And more than the omnipotent could conjure up
As craftily devised biblical plots wedged somewhere between
Destiny, divine intent, bliss, nirvana, and turning everyone’s cheek

This is a poem inspired by my hopeless moments
In stern consideration of that educated statement
“That’s just how things are, and will always be!”
Brought to you by a roundtable
Of enlightened optimists and pessimists
How deep is the heart, then? A different fable…
“That’s not how it is! I will change this!”
Argued life, refusing to die
Then found another way to grow.
But hopelessness hangs heavy here
Uncertainty is a color dark with fear
Strangely, it’s in those tired times that you can see
Cracks in concrete circumstance to surpass
How infinite is the soul, then? I know it will always reach…
Despite all odds I too am, and I will be.

—

White Tiger On A Leash

White tiger on a leash
Thorned claws
Bright eyes
Ivory teeth
You’re beautiful how you tend to be
Her strength is heaven sent
By will alone, let it be known
At heart she knows that she is free

White tiger on a leash
Dignified dispositions
Fearless hunter
Nobler mother
Driving on, she’s beautiful when she’s strong
Between throbbing heartbeats torn from her chest
And hopelessly silenced jaws
A heart not owned, freedom is a virtue hers.

White tiger on a leash
They do as they please
See her fearlessly
Jump between fiery hoops aflame
As crowds applaud notable feats, but
Wild is her nature, and stubborn the grace in her
Untamable, but breakable
This she knows, shackles pacing in desperate circles
A master, an insult to her very nature

White tiger on a leash
Relentless intuition
A living poem of ambition
Faithfully growling fangs
She knows she’s stronger than whip, or chain,
An idealist’s frustrated standards,
Or a showman’s trophy to gain.
A heart firm, a great heart for her
One that simply won’t be tame
Defiantly, somewhere still, you are free.
Even if they claim this life…
You can see it clearly in her eyes.

White tiger on a leash
Pretend if you must
Make believe break frees
Rock the boat tenderly
Gestures that belong to those unbending
To that clinging gaze of fate
Or the tired ways of destiny
To which heroes die and die again
She, such a strange reflection of we
What everyone is…
So, by will alone, let it be known
At heart, we’re more than this.

All Tomorrows

Deep is that place called despair
Both endless its hanging wrath
And grievous the cross to bear
Yet, at that almighty face of fate I laugh
Here the penance of fear would appear strange
Knowing that even fate can change

So hold up your head in hopes place
Open is that hungry gate
Beneath which reaping past does claim
Those burdens of yesterdays,
And quarreling lists of past ills
That so bitterly declare lost trust over friendship spilt
Proclaim thus, you illuminated heartbeats blinded by faith
Today is past future to celebrate
And all tomorrows, the fighting now worth dreaming of.

—

My Nationality

My nationality is not me
I am more than a body
Or pretentious games regarding racial origin
I am a piece of all, and in unity I am free
With a heart that feels, and eyes that see
We are all brothers, sisters, sharing the air we breathe
I do not belong, and I am not owned
By popular dictatorship, or peer-pressured authority
For rule-of-conduct can be a devil most ambiguous
I will not be segregated by mask, or another conveniently sorted-by-color creed
I wear my face bear, with the intention to last
Carving my life story in poems
And each day is a passing omen foretelling that
There’s a spirit in each of us
Spirits beyond grand arguments concerning national pride
Petty things that mater only to the wealthy rich
My true heritage is a place within
Built of battles fought, survived, and lived
I am my reason to truly be proud
And celebrate the spirits behind veil and shroud.

—

Just So You Know

If I where the man I wanted to see…
I would tell me that,
“You’re perfect just the way you are,
And you don’t have to change for anyone.”

So… I don’t know why a guy thinks he has the right to take a woman and objectify the very force that gives life, teach her proper behavior, or subjugate then model her into his version of a “dream woman”, the “perfect spouse”, soul mate, play mate, piece of pound of flesh payed for by perfect proportion, or any other standard of being that anything high heeled should go by.

Just so… I don’t think demanding and breaking her, you, me, or all of she in is justifiable.
And, just so you know, I sincerely question the blind obedience demanded here,
Or the moral validity of passing me off as “mentally inept” if I don’t comply.
You see, discretion is advised, because I’ve sincerely had it up to here with twisted perceptions of “no” as you’re doing me the favor of a good thing,
But the good thing shouldn’t be by force, and
In a pincushion heartbeat, I’ve already payed my perfect pound of meat with palpitating currency.

So, you know… heads, turn tails, spinning with up and downs
As, somehow, keeping me in check has gotten so out of hand that I’m not too sure where it all really began, or in who’s favor the coin will land,
But I guess I’m paying the price for saying “no” to the best man and getting in the way of the perfect romance.

And, just so… I’ve come to know that the price of turning down prince charming is steep.
It’ll cost you your carefully weighed meat, loosing mind, break you, then change you in due time, but you see,
The sum of the game is this…
If I where the man that I wanted to see I would tell me that,
“You are perfect.
You are perfect just the way you are,
And you don’t have to change for anyone.”

Cross

“He will not destroy me,
He will not pull me down.”
She declares, bearing her thorned crown
Dragging a boy’s cross
Up a grieving hill, you see her quite clearly counting loss
“But he will not put me down.”
She plainly states to him, sitting on a throne of frowns
Peer pressured anxieties, friends attend to throw their stones, aloud
Gossip tenderly, deceiving make believes
Teach or boastfully preach, then destroy what he cannot have.
Steep is the punishment, judged for saying “No.”
So it’s sad when responsibilities are avoided to such a point where her’s is a hopeless mess, but you should know,
“All this will not be my defeat,
His demeanor will not claim me,
Or savour my submission…”
She vows, dragging a boy’s cross
Its been far too long, the road drawn out with loss
But… this is the last for another to carry then be crucified on
“He will not pull me down.”

In Some Sense

Wandering my trail of tears
Heartbeats fall like passing years
Ambiguous companion to both fate and fear
Still it’s strange that melody I endure to hear
Hope is that you ringing in my ears?
As I’m standing without wings at the terrified cliffside
The lightless seeker beneath blinding night skies
She feels just like another lie
Conjured up to believe me through
Then fall off with a curious gesture of ridicule
Indignation since I wouldn’t believe any more truth
Hopefully, my heart bleeds all for you
Yet in this darkest of places with laughing teardrop faces
I march somewhere between bent and tall
Stumbling that path I chose to walk
Footsteps to count despite all
Fallen heartbeats, and crushing regrets
Nevertheless, I believe somehow
There’s a light shining in the distance, unbound
Perhaps in some twisted sense, Hope
So I wander, all but broke.

Ivy

She…
In her sleeping beauty twists
Another leaf perchance?
Or another to fall

Who knows…
Still, she grows tall
Covering all then’s, and now’s
Is, and will be’s
In careful consternation of all the how’s
As she reaches again for unmeasured skies
Well past after the final time

Cut her, or burn her, spare her no grief!
Water for her, for them blood
Out of prestigious styrofoam cups.
Ransack, and violate her, plundering intricacies
Another to boast dominion over being
And dare tear her from what she so faithfully clings!

Yet she…
In her sleeping beauty, relentlessly
Her roots run fast, her roots deep
And in that forsaken death of sleep
Where weeping laughter vows indignantly
She is reminded of her rising dreams
Reminded exactly how to reach

Her spirit, sweet…
Her leaves are counted heart beats!
Her perfect face cast in dust,
Hopelessly crawls, desperately creeps.
See it decorate the barren,
And crown the desolate, green.

She gives her all, unafraid to fall
And upholds her loss, rejoicing…
Even after she’s taken quite greedily
Those that pick at her leaves to confine her
Underestimate the spirit that drives her

Quite stubborn, in fact, it’s hopelessly free!

Condemn her, and you inspire her
Something sacred, it revives her
It’s in those unbecoming places that you’ll find her
Don’t deny her she’ll defy you, who come to control
To her broken body, and unbending soul;
It never gets old.

It’s strangely true…
Those around her can only uphold
All the tangled directions that but heaven knows
So cast all your shadows of doubt
She’ll still crawl a way out
In utter disregard of what may
Trim to teach her of place

She… Relinquished now
Pyres, gods hang her burden from a tree
For her a pile, for her great heaps!
Fires, gathered in plastic bags as they leave
Will sublime, still she breathes
There’s something survived, something asleep
Among dismembered pieces scattered, there reclines
The gentle ivy vine.

—

“She says I’m too ambitious, I should stop and just float
But I find it hard to cope
Because I grew up around AIDS, addicts, and coke
It wasn’t all that bad, but it did leave pieces broke
When a good thing happens, I think it’s a trick or a joke
I’m told my expectations are too high, but I really don’t
Know where the negative stops, and the positive should start
So all I can do is wish upon stars
I admit, if it’s not getting better, someday I’ll let go
“Life is a sandcastle!” she says,
Stop and just float…”

Heart Graveyard

There’s a graveyard for hearts
If you keep the receipt you can make a return
And bury it for a brand new start
But the bridge is burned
Since she doesn’t have the proper paperwork

There’s that thing festering again
Too common to call a social issue
Occluded by ego’s that like it too much to amend
She ran out of hope to pour on it
And rope to hold since it never ends

There’s that breaking down, just the right fit!
Equality is a frightening thing
To sexually insecure supremacists
Gentlemen retract their hands and let her fall
Something I don’t understand at all
Is it that when she’s on the ground she’s less intimidating?
Or maybe when she’s put down it absolves
The peer pressured qualifications of a crowd?

There’s that excusing remark after insult
If the words are chosen right it works wonders in every light
Ever so worthlessly laundered, so maybe it’s just her
But you know it’s been pointed out before
Teach it how to shatter right,
So they can push and it doesn’t matter, right?

There’s that heartless demeanor that’s considered just fine
Gentlemen, do you really like it begging?
She’d rather rot instead, so give it your best try
True self respect is unforgiving
Knees are wounded, that’s why she’s on them

So there’s that elusive issue that is, but is not
Something to ask the god that forgot
Because he’s too great to mind little have-nots
What do you do if you lost the receipt,
And you have to bury a broken heart?

—
A Butterfly

A butterfly…
She flies, caressing the space between
Sunshine, and air, the world unseen.
A stronger spirit is hers, as
Wings beating, she caries herself free,
From the cocoon.

A butterfly…
Once captive, now beyond free.
Liberty, greater than that bestowed on any living being,
It was not a birth right,
It’s hard earned, the air she’s breathing…
Once she writhed, and twisted.
Hers was a fight, she suffered to beg a million wishes.
Change hurts when it’s to surpass circumstance,
And escape that prison
Of one’s own devising.

A butterfly…
Toiling at chance, once she hung from a branch…
Once a pathetic thing dangling, at which others could point and laugh,
A brittle figure, wings wrinkled, and body broken.
It’s hard to struggle into the open
Just to find a world cold, wings useless, and unable to fly.
“Why did I escape? Why did I fight?” is her cry.
“Why did I leave? It would have been easier never to have tried!”
Hope is the most dreadful of trials…
“All for naught! Is it here that I’m simply to die!?”
“I’m a failure amongst all butterflies!”

But a butterfly…
She seems still for a final moment,
Clinging dearly to a leaf.
The wind blows wisely to her relief
Drying her hard earned perfection,
Soothing her, beauty set in stone,
Decisions shaped, and fought through and through,
She is finally made, and made new, all on her own.
With a flutter she drifts away.

A butterfly!
She’s outgrown her own form,
A stronger spirit is hers,
Greater than then or now.
She carries herself free,
She glides like heartbeat,
She’s come far just to be seen!
She is… like you, or me.

A Flower

A flower is all the world’s impossibility
She is the great subduer of sleep
The great one that overcomes
And opens simply to see
Simply to be free…
She twists, she dances, her scent glides on every breeze!
She is the exploding result of impossible dreams

A flower is the outcome of ambition
A monument to will, unrelenting
She knew not to stay still and realized her own being
Ever so gently she is the one that glides between
Then and now, and never again,
No place in particular…
The complete disregard of when’s and where’s
The face she bears is stubborn and proud
She declares her colors quite loud!

A flower is a secret finally told
Earth holds her like a whisper
When she’s realized, she finally withers
Perhaps forgotten, perhaps granted remembrance
As a dedication to that sublime resemblance
Which burns and illuminates every being’s heart
She is the surmounted mark of divine art
That overcame both light and dark

A flower is like every dream
She reaches for the sky, too stubborn to die
Unforgiving, her aspirations are too high
She struggles from the ground
Surroundings crowd her out
The world tries to drown her, tries to push her down
“Know your place!” So they say
They teach her otherwise, beat her aside,
School her to hide her potential face, and abandon all her grace…
But the only thing she knows,
Is her own promise of a brighter day.

And A Leaf

Find her
In the shade of a tree
She let go of home to wander
All the greater anxieties.
Her face is old, color of gold,
She dances silently
To the turning of a breeze…

Mind her
Nomad of earth and sky
You can dream for her
To the melody she breathes.
Quietly, she is free
Needlessly at ease with ambition and cause
She has traveled long
To remind us of the sound of songs!

Hear her
Keeper of another peace
Her power is in movements
As numbers that gather silently.
They move, they reach, they change what’s seen!
Doers, in no need of grand spectacle,
Unkept promises, or speech.
Numbers that be, come as quietly as they leave
No one can question the voices of the truly free.

Be her
She is old, but not worn
Crushed, but not torn-
Between world’s, or double standards.
Hypocrites can’t shatter-
Her being… Here, she is only in passing
Time and again, no great man’s captive, nor means
No man’s property, or sample of virtue!
A great spirit for her, both wise and meek!
A great spirit learns, greater spirits can’t be owned.
The greater are free to remind us of what we don’t see
They remind unfeeling hearts to feel,
And command the unspeakable to finally heal…

See her
In that quiet admiration of a moment…
Twisting to those psalms of a fallen omen,
And missing the qualms of all the world’s solemn.
Her likeness resides in each of us
A mark of untamed desire to be more than thus.
Change everlasting.
So, see her…
In a breeze ever so passing,
Wanders the fallen leaf.

—

Like The Sea

hello stranger,
more beautiful than the last…
from the billions of people,
no two are the same.
build a pedestal for each!
throw petals at their feet!

hello you,
life; from those darkest times into light…
if we celebrated each-other we would see
that we’re far too admirable to condemn,
to habitual hells and war games of death.
why fight our fellow men?
when, from the billions of them,
no two are ever the same.

hello why,
would we need saviors, saints, or priests?
what we don’t need is addiction or crutch,
sowing seeds of resent that plant another grudge,
and to whom should we look up to,
when it means turning our backs on ourselves?
put the holly word and weapon down
there’s enough bodies for history to count.
celebrating neither god nor greater one,
but the masterpiece inside each.
we’re unexplainable, don’t you see?
when, from the billions of ‘We’,
no single ‘I’ is ever the same…
it’s a weighted responsibility just to ‘be’.

another to greet, someone i’ll never truly know.
it’s always chance that any of us meet,
like the sea, ebb and flow,
people come and friends go,
when there’s billions of people…
so build an altar for each!
carve every name into stone!
because, from the mass that’s passed and is to come,
each of us happens only once.

—

Charles
(poem from an older scrapbook)

“why?” is the most consuming of questions
pointlessly pitched against one’s own odds, return
to looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle
some things don’t get drowned out
some things, not easily lost…
“why?” too much to ask for
memories with teeth, jaw’s hungry, come to devour more hope
some things have a face demanding to be stared down
here, a mirror, with a stranger’s reflection
it’s in these restless hours that one sees a strong-willed coward
with a mind tangled in sleepless nights pulling at “have-been’s”, “if-only’s”, and “done-did’s”
oh you! come delusions…
beneath you, to bury truths in the “didn’t really happens”, “not so bad”, “wasn’t” and “isn’t”
“why?” maybe it’s easier if decorated right?
looking for something lost heroes struggle to find
in brighter hopes of tomorrow
out and far away, imaginative sunshine
where there are no marks of lost homes, and six feet deep holes
no consuming once-upon-ago’s
demanding to be faced, roaring to be fought
“so what!” with a shrug
in restless hours, all unbroken heroes know
life’s alright, just a little rough around the edges
it’s up to you to beat away the imperfections
and let it all go
answers rise in forgiveness of the questions
answers wrought in sorrow aren’t worth the cost of tomorrow
because that hero’s questions where never worth drowning for
since the answers only lied, at the bottom of the last bottle

—

Where Does The Soul Go?

Who gave man dominion over men?
Soul, prayer, future, Saviors stand by…
As I wait pending outcomes to further break
My dear mental refugees.
Oh deity absent in these trying times, I tell you!
Turn me a deaf ear with crying eyes? I’ll have you see!
Shut eyes too? Then, I guess it’s true…
Both man and his god disrespect themselves
As they conquer.

Deconstructing theories of original sin
In bitter consternation of
Where does the soul go when it’s broken?
Where does it hide in those moments
When facing that punishment of
Man and his deity’s righteous self-disprespect?
You see, the greatest victories are also the greatest shames
The roulette wheel result of blame games.

She’s on her knees because they broke
The holiest pillar that holds
Her most intimate of foundations.
“This is my temple!” This is her sacred,
Declaration of pride and origin of all smiles.
Wrecking balls to it! “The calvary is here!”
And declaring great deeds of chivalry,
As they convinced her that it’s all for the best.
So caged wings, mind suffers wrecking ball chains,
Something rises long enough to beg that question a while longer…
“Where does my soul go once it’s conquered?”

—

7:11
“it’s one of those days again
this is dedicated to feeling dead
it’s difficult earning that daily bread
from a string and stick, before me dangles a dream
so i work to reach, perhaps rather pointlessly
i’m beginning to question if family’s enough of a reason
kicking myself for weakness, falling to pieces
maybe i’m too much of an overachiever
was it worth coming this far, just to grieve it?
just to admire a hundred and one scars, am I not a human being?
hard work doesn’t really lead me to succeed
chocking on something that seems like grief
but… it’s just a feeling
so i play dead”

Another Rumor

To my good humor, I hear another rumor…
There’s a hypocrite trying to change the world,
By being the same old problem.
At wits end, it’s a laughing matter to yet again witness,
Cause, effect, and another choice to regret…
Voice no resent, but how many consequences are left?
Collect them all to wear like medals strung across a chest!
Here’s another parody best granted lip-serviced respect.
So, whom should be dreaded next?

For the sake of resent, it’s become quite the diplomatic event…
There’s a master of lies trying to hide,
Behind gossip bent in his favor.
Winning politicians feed their deceit to the unassuming
Bystanders… learn to parody lip-services for the deceiving.
So, who will be among the end’s receiving?
It’s the innocent that reap what ambitious hypocrites sow.

To my amused misfortune, it’s become a spectacular show…
All great God’s where men,
And women are there to rear then tend,
The outcome of sexual urges.
…So they say,
But who’s to pray to murderers anyway?
In this applaudably advanced day and age,
Some “she’s” happened to be born on the receiving end
Of “he”… And had to earn their privilege to be free.
But still, hypocrites show no relief.
So fill me yet another cup of deceit!

It’s a laughing matter, no doubt,
When the masters are consistently the same.
Cause of the problem they try to mend.
Cause for resent, and another choice to regret.
So… when, I must ask, can I foster hate?
In my heart, there’s well beyond plenty of space…
Observing the many silly things simply left to ponder,
While facing another lip-serviced parody,
To my amusement and wonder.

—

hate crimes hanging from a tree
and bickering bigots barking on tv
pointless aggression, why is it this we choose to be, my dear humanity?
when we nail some madman to a cross
for having the bad sense to tell everyone
that it doesn’t matter we should just be
belief should set us free!
love and compassion…
we all have our life history
so does nitpicking slightly askew personal views,
and oddly shaped ways of life even matter?
what’s in the food bowl, who’s fat when who starves,
and is the most hated race yellow, red, or dark?
because there’s a hangman up the same tree we all bark
borders by definition are lines drawn to set us all apart
its like dividing a broken heart
skin tones are just like the other
when we define ourselves by looks, wearing any color is hard
can i talk to the manager please, who’s in charge?
we’re all born citizens of the world despite passport or card
so are borders by definition ever necessary?
when it’s leaders that divide the cake but don’t share it with their people
although it’s the people that build the steeples,
in which leaders make the decisions that bleed their people…
still we’re feeding stone age habits, when we’re better than these
superficialities and invisible lines drawn on hypothetically marked soil
my dear humanity, Beautiful We!
…if we could live and let be.

—

For Something Greater
(Birthday Poem)

“You’re over analyzing.” She firmly said…
Keeping company of a long ago friend
A debate with Life. Again, I’m arguing a means to end…
But why argue, language is poorly articulated intent.
That familiar feeling of “I can’t do you anymore.”
Counting harm, peace is no charm, when you can’t feel it within,
But wouldn’t quitting be a cowards sin?
Heroes pay for done and did.
Still, it’s sweet and relentless
Life, you’re harsh when remembered
No. it’s not to you, but family for whom my heart is beating.
Wary travelers proudly breathing, grow restless
A proclamation by the stubborn and relentless;
“There’s got to be more to all this than this mess!”
Yet, it can be hard for those wearing a heart and soul
Life, overcast by a net of shadows, you feel cold
Here it’s easy to get tangled and old
But holding a torch between lost and loosing control
A whiter shade of blue, strange sanity is always the uncertain hue
Love isn’t helpless, when I see them it’s ridiculous to go.
Life unselfish, what do we live for other than selfless love?
It’s more than true, Life, it’s more than you!
So why can’t you be more caring?
Your children cry and hurt.
Make believe vengeance by someone dumb and daring,
Where is a god that I can point my finger at and curse?
Give me something to blame for all that festers and burns
A promise of after death revenge is a sweet feeling returned
“If god exists I’ll take it out on him, and you know it’s well earned!”
Under impressions that there are not enough cheeks to turn, or flags to burn
But I’m a fool to wave a fist at another fool that hides
In heaven’s castles or in those on Earth
When I know what empowers both,
And, I know, it’s a senseless shame,
To point fingers at all but more of the same
When we all act the similar way in an identical play.
This stage is set with a question mark at the end
Life why can’t you be less selfish?
Why are good people poor and needy,
And the rich so very greedy?
Why are a few in control, and made in the image of the god to whom butchers pray?
A man who likes it submissive and his way.
But life, growing pains make me feel I can’t handle another lesson,
And trying to understand you, I draw too many blanks.
It’s a lacking expression,
Where I recede into sublime regression.
Feeling dead, but before I feel any less true,
There’s one thing that should be said;
My heart beats for something greater than you.

—

09/12/11 – Lunch Break Poem

hey you, do you mind? step aside!
hey who? for love of another soldier…
backtalk dedicated to all strong hearts so much older
than the age credited to a face
or cracked years between unwrinkled skin
backtalk… when patience grows thin
hey you, hold a dove to another soldier!
peace, respect; you know we all have scars
but it’s not hard
for all unbending soldiers to hold their chin up
and march hard and far
someday i’ll die, perhaps young, and i’d rather that
than surrender to age, struggle, or pain
i am who i am, and am so much more proud of that
than labels associated with race, gender, country or place
…a thing not even death dare claim;
my inability to surrender.
so, man, can you know respect?
black or white neither are colors to hide
a woman is nothing to resent
you, oh woman, should know
that you’re stronger than the one dealing the blows
there’s equally red blood inside
us all, the same bond for which soldiers thus fall
and wounded hearts tirelessly beat as they remind
us all that ‘you’ is not a sin for which to repent
but good reason to be proud
so, since this is dedicated to all daughters and sons fighting for futures better than now,
yes sir, i do very much mind!
and have nothing to say to either the preacher,
or coward that, out of ineptitude to live their own life,
put a fellow soldier in place from behind a pulpit.

–

Just One More

(Dedicated to all women stronger than they think they are.)

Where should I wear it this time?
Stigma on a golden chain
Too brown, white, or green
I’m not a ‘he’ I’m a ‘she’
So I hate being me
Degrees of hate
Equality hurts when it comes from a fist
Tell me; why should it be exactly like this?
Varieties of stigma painted on a face
If it breaks it obeys
Sweetly wear it, so stylish when put in place
It’s a brilliant hue, the he’s like it black and blue
Take your best swing at the punch line doing a man’s job
But you know she sells well covering that magazine
Suicide is for people too different for life
So I beg to leave, God the father let me be
Why should I be if I can’t be anything else but me?
Inventing excuses to stay
How often must I try
Too often, my eyes are dry
God, great father, you know I tried and tried
But now I’m inventing just another
And you know I’m running out of reasons to lie
To myself, it keeps on going
And God, glorious father, you know trust is an issue
With me, because I can’t keep believing in misuse
What who tells me, promises sound sweet
And God, oh patriarch, I’m no saint but I do believe
I endure and abuse
Myself if I flirt with another excuse
To stay and not go, insofar it’s an art
Till death do us part
Dearly discarded who knows what I’ll miss
If I don’t come up with one more to comfort myself with
So how, exactly, would you like me to wear it this time?
That stigma across my face

—

No, By Robot Girl (Excerpt from ‘Tell Me Why, Robot Girls Don’t Ever Cry‘ )

No… No should not affect how I’m treated, and no, it does not exhibit poor judgement on my part.
No, I am a human being, and no, you don’t have a right to belittle me as if I don’t know what’s good for me when I say ‘no’.
And no, ‘no’ is a wonderful word and should not be used sparingly.
No is a statement to be used by women and respected by men.
No, I did not sleep with anyone, and no it’s none of your business.
Then again no, even if I did it shouldn’t make any difference.
No, we did not have a relationship, and no I shouldn’t be forced into one by his friends, peers, or co-workers.
And most certainly no, it’s no secret. We where friends and I insisted it stay that way.
No, it does not mean I’m afraid to move forward, it means I respect myself and the counterpart.
And no, it’s not fair that there are repercussions to me, my reputation, and gossip can be ruthless, so no!
No, I am not seductive or flirtatious, I am charmingly beautiful. Oh, and no, I know the difference, and no that previous statement was not egotism or self-flattery, so get over yourself. Women can be funny too.
No! Just because I laughed at your joke doesn’t mean I’m into you. It means it was a funny joke.
No, saying ‘no’ shouldn’t affect my position, get me treated like I’m mentally inept, need special care, or am somehow bellow the level of respectable consideration.
No, It’s honestly none of your business, and no, you can take what I say at face value. I really meant it when I said ‘no’.
No, you don’t have a right to psychoanalyze me, crucify me, gang up on me, harass me, or paint me in any negative light as if I’m ‘the bad guy’ when I clearly said no and left it at that…

—

Prejudice faces inventing superiority complexes
Judgmental eyes judge books by their cover
But how shallow are we
That we can’t even read
The complex pages bound inside

Every face has a reason for every wrinkle
Every book has a story,
And every soul, a song of glory
Angry faces, rest in peace
All good people, let it be
There’s a story inside each

But who’s to say, and who’s to tell
Who’s the critique that knows so well
Without living the life another felt
How shallow can one be?
…When they judge before they read.

—

Devil At My Door

Money, is that you knocking at my door?
Come again to give me too much of more…
Things I do not want, what devil is keeping score?
Give me less and I’ll have it all!
Friends of enemies, and enemies of good friends
Counting casualties in an invisible war I so resent…
Relentless wealth, even renunciants are unhappy that they can’t afford less…

Money, is that you killing us?
Money to betray trust
Great empires end thus
Oh you success, should I place in you all passion?
To betray love for lust?
Oh you resent, life let me go, it’s a maddening place we’ve fashioned
Legacies of gold to whom I deny my heart and soul
Money, leave me alone, I’m done playing the devil’s game
Epic quests for milk and honey leave us no home,
The world over great crowds now roam
But what is truly great when all walls decay the same?

Money, great sinners are great at business
Its a shame we worship the winners
Of a never ending race for a reward that does not exist
Rules bend… means can’t justify the end when there is none
But what have we become?
Money, what have you done?
Advertised and sponsored, glory you are not for me!
But you, God, where are you!?
Show me something true…
Show me you…

Quite godlessly, I’m seeking reasons to stay
Loosing hope in the toil of today
Pray tell, desperate prayers to spare me life and take me away!
God, I considered the birds of the air and lilies of the fields,
God, they fall from the heavens and the sickly lilies wilt, you see?
Freedom is free only for tax reasons, and I’m told to believe
The holy books of gloriously holy men as they mischievously weave
An entry fee into a holy kingdom that has no place for me
Oh money… let me be.

—

our father in heaven…
we don’t need a father
we don’t need a patron king
not another politician, pimp, or commoditized way of being
we need our mother
beneath blue skies, this Earth that hurts
because our father has us beat one another
has us fear our sister and brother
but mother, why art thou?
the culture that refuses to die,
children too free to define…
independent minds can’t be controlled…
self mutiny, now to whom do we pray?
prayer brings no brighter day
so demonize and deface the mother
scars run deep, in your soil we plow
another bomb, another’s struggle
another dollar to make big fathers bigger
and the rich all the richer
but what lies do we paint into the picture
what fine lines lie between a saint and sinner
conflicted politics to make us dimmer
another lost heart broken by the struggle
another blind eye shot from a brother
in truth we need our mother
in truth we need one another

—

cry me not another tear oh stranger devotions
moving through the motions of yet another notion
that tomorrow will be better
but what of back then?
in hopeless consideration of way back whens…
I hope never to feel again!
chew me up and spit it out
there’ll always be something left somehow
persistence of the human soul
we’re greater than popularized lies sold
self doubt patiently taught and told
lost games are not worth any amount of hell
because winners are greater than the cards they’re dealt
life is like a funeral where no one wears black
leave it! no reason to ever look back
but somehow I always manage to say that
and catch myself running in circles
chasing tails and holly grails
protesting what all my friends died over
so what am I fighting for?
asks the homesick nomad

—

going through the motions of trust
I don’t entertain false notions of faith
but in what should i place
my hope when i’ve known less
treat it like it’s human
with a human face
with blood that’s red
but even blood’s shed over less
out of place resent
can we please hate over something more than less?
prejudice bickering over differences, repent
but even innocent get crucified over less
I know, it never ends
so I paid my debt to nothing, and left
it all behind again
even fugitives flee over less
never to look back
but still, dearly devoted, it greets me going forward
so I endure another motion
placing faith in less

—

‘Why is there suffering?’
Another asks, deliriously pondering disheartening offerings
Of wisdom from the profits, great teachers, and preachers
Truths of fattened Buddhas and crucified believers
Caught in the painful imperfections between each breath to death
Morbid notions wear us all to the bone
Explaining the divine in those twisting and turning toils
Of war weary spoils and chiseled saints craftily set into stone
But change doesn’t come from yesterday
It’s written today.

‘Why is there suffering?’
Biblical revelations tirelessly forebode
In tones of anorexic muses striking a curious pose
What to aspire to if doom has already been foretold?
Another’s left to ask, as they ponder
Prayers unanswered… its divinelessly quiet above
But has any ever stopped to wonder
In all of history ten fold over
‘Why is there love?’

—

equal faces fearfully point fingers at “inferior” races
in superior graces, blame games naming lesser faces
rise you fools, now is not the time for hatred
behaviorism scared not even the elite are in charge
within each… a spark
from within, something slumbers, something breaths
ascending from the deep it stirs it speaks…
wings of a new soul
the roots of a seed planted long ago
one that now buds and yearns to be free
one unseen, come forth songs of stars
it throbs within a laboring earth, mother of hearts
in each it blooms, with the voices of angels it speaks
the unbreakable essence and unconditional presence
that pounds in every fleeting breath
and gnaws at the depths of every mind
something immortal, something sublime,
that even in death knows…
the world will not end
but in our waking birth begins again.

—

neurotic gods need to be needed
jealous patrons and wrathful deities
man, in struggle for heaven,
place themselves in hell
let both go, all the saintly know
we need eachother to be ‘we’
but we need ‘we’ to be
one inspires another…
take responsibility for what ‘we’ become!
so into what do we grow?
no fate is set into stone
nothing is evil and no one is holier
quite lazy followers all show
that directed faith be the culprit claiming souls
mislead goals between sinners or winners
but is there really sin?
only what dies within
to deny ones self life
starved of grand visions and revisions of the self
lost experience, a terrible loss
so i celebrate all the coming and going moments
of myself discovered in the freedom of now

—

The Last Tree

If I had all the money in the world,
I would cast it from me until no one had need…
Poor of the world, a beautiful thing to be
Privileged to rise above the impervious
If I had all the food in the world,
I would give it away until everybody ate like the wealthy…
You see, beautiful free,
Life is not a commodity
Destruction by a few chimes deceptively
But why are we caught chasing false dreams?
Who’s tail do we chase that we cannot see?
If I had all the freedom in the world,
I would refute it and dance to a new melody…
No one is free until they believe that life is
Simple things taken for granted because of price tags
With so much on sale, is anything worth anymore?
With so many people having, is it worth the reward?
An audience of dead asks, is it worth the award,
To trade all for one, and one for none…?
If I had all the Earth of the world,
I would let it be and see it thrive…
We die because of otherwise
Self interested destruction of a few, but who deserves it?
Paid soul expression, who has earned it?
As an artist I have to sell my art to eat
Art is freedom of expression, but art is no longer free
So who’s to blame for this mess that no one made?
Butchery, famine, war and hate?
Pathetic enemies seem great…
If I had all the fingers in the world,
I could point them at no one…
Not the privileged few, rich, or leaders of death
So mournfully lost as all the rest
Oh you, that so allusively does not exist!
Who are you really, great devil in disguise?
Who’s face might I paint for all our demise?
Searching the world over for blame
If I had all the blame in the world,
I could pin it on but one;
All of us.
Lies cleverly told…
We become what we believe and behold
Of all of us.
Selfishly superior consumers of life,
Biblical god sent, godlessly obliged to stand in the right as we eat!
Eating ourselves, how we believe ourselves to destruction.
Beliefs abducted, but what to believe in belief over unabundance?
Innocent and wicked marked by that strife of self-resentment
So eloquently ushering us to our death
And to a race that breathes its ending breath
Despite me and all the fleeting world to have,
I would be left to ask…
In that escalating madness what habits will be shed?
Before there is a war over the last tree left.

—

Street People

An infection from barb wire rust
It bleeds yellow…
The devil exists because choice exists
Divine battles within us
Ashes that burned, returned to dust
It landed on my hand and makes me curious
What where you before a flake of gray?
Choice… Without it love wouldn’t be real
Life is hard because choices are mixed
Emotions within us
Scars on the back of a long gone friend
How I wish they wouldn’t have marked more than just your flesh
Perhaps you found peace in that sleep of the dead
But God… Now that I’ve seen hell’s true face
I beg you to spare me yet another glimpse of that place
Barely spared death by divine grace
I rejoice in what I’ve been through
Because true love is a virtue
Found in greater choices that few understand
Counting pennies in a jar, there’s not enough for food
Dumpsters are full of the unused… So I’m digging
Through more than just a plastic cup
If I master choosing grace within myself
I would recognize the truest of divine struggles
A silly notion… Punish me not with future struggle, my dear devotions
Lest I break, and learn not love but hate
Life is more than to be an enlightened Christ or realize Buddha’s bliss
Even son’s of God where at a loss of what to make of all of this
Suffering surpassed, not defined by tears
I propose a vow, never again to cry or tolerate fears
Bad water and dry bread to feed the dead.
Without fire winter was cold,
Instead I faced the sublime and warmed my soul
Because I refuse to recognize age I swore never to grow old
Rise, now! Dearly survived…
Above those shackles of your social mask
Life is to breathe one’s own being into all
Rise! How dearly obliged…
So much more beyond what I am or could have been
The hungry filled, a being beyond my own end…
An infection from red barb wire dust feels mellow
It healed because once it bled yellow.

—

To Kill An Angel Soul

What would you do to save the world?
Would you kill another savior?
One may be amused, but what if you burnt all angels as witches,
And unable to stand those theatrical trials of the falsely accused,
Or inescapable fate of the curiously abused,
Souls of both Angel’s and savior’s stopped coming from the sky?
Would your Earth simply crumble and die?

What would you do with dead soil?
There’s not much joy in Earth scarred by toil…
And toil does scar, muses can tell,
So, if you feel you must, sacrifice all of them as well.
…To the artist’s pursuit of self-grandeur,
And art gratified by empty sensations of lust over love.
Thus… if muses too stopped raining down from above,
Would the earth simply dry up?

So with no angels or muses left to inspire
The sleeping to wake, the weary to tire,
The unknowing to know, and all little nothings to grow
In aspiration to achieve and stand higher…
Riddle me please, what would happen with your science,
When even good science comes from good forces?
What of science then, if there are no more good voices
To influence greater and better choices?

What would you do, and would you even wonder why,
Regarding that day that all good souls stopped coming from the sky,
And the Earth simply passed away…
“Some things can’t be genetically modified,
Fabricated then sold under a megalithic enterprise–”
Souls inscribed with the last words of the wise.
“There is such a thing called ‘soul’…”
Quoth the shamans that are nevermore.

The day healers stopped healing…
What can the grieving do but remorse,
The day healers stopped feeling…
Postlude to that great divorce,
Of substance from synergy.
Breeds them, the walking dead, you see.
Thus, what would you do in a future with no light?
As Earth looses all good souls to shut eyes,
Because flames that burn bright went to places more kind.

So what would you do to save the world?
Would you find another savior to lynch?
Or perhaps burn another angel-witch?
With no souls to supply the spirit its daily bread,
Would you wonder why they left your planet as dead?
When all good soul races know
That there are better places to inspire to greatness.
So do what you do… but what if it’s true…
Even Earths grow tired and there is only one for you.

(a new-agey weird poem inspired by the orphic inscription: “I am child of the Earth and the starry Heaven, but my race is of Heaven alone…”)

—

Bottled Air

This is dedicated to the future,
I’m sorry…
You children as sick as the soil
Will you struggle to replant lost forests?
To heal what’s left of our proud toil?
And the week shall save the world
From the graves their grandparents dug yesterday,
To bury the children of today.

This is dedicated to my baby,
The one I’m not cruel enough to have…
Ghost cities, and invaded deprivation
Treasure fever, oil is sweeter
Than water, but water is an industry
And paper money was once a tree.
When life was free…

I’m so sorry, my dear,
But free isn’t good business,
And wouldn’t make much of a monopoly…
I would stop but I’m lost in the transaction
For air while it’s still free to breathe
We’re major share-holders, you see
It’s free as long as it’s clean.
But clean costs money greens
Green printed on a fallen tree
So if you don’t mind, pray tell, please…
Is the trash you’re drowning in recycled?

This is dedicated to the future,
From a ghost of yesterday,
I’m sorry, it isn’t fair…
Disenfranchised, I can’t help wonder if
It would be like this if enough of “I” cared,
To ask, what fee do you pay for bottled air?
Does it kill you slow, or stave off death?
Does the world end with a crash or in a struggling breath?
What is the going price for the last seed?

I’m so sorry, my dear…
I used the last water to keep the lawn green
And you’re not a popular topic for the discreet scrutiny
Of neighbors, talk-show hosts, or two-sided debates on TV
It would be different… but you see
There was an issue with the funding
To save you some rain and a non-toxic breeze
Tomorrow wasn’t a good investment opportunity
And our campaign didn’t have enough money…
And your paper money,
Was once a tree.

—

Her Subtle Image

In its final hour…
Judged by the image if its women
An abstract notion hiding behind concealer and lotion
Surgically improved Frankengirls with fabulous breasts
Stand tall! Prosthetics impress, and innovatively think less
Shadows to insult the celebrated image of woman true…
The one art knew,
Divine reflections of nature framed
By their changing seasons of rediscovered beauty and grace
But how grievously women and nature are bound to share that same fate
As youth applauds rape
A society may be weighed by the way it behaves toward you, good woman
Earth and her…
Worthlessly used discarded and twisted to please
Those greater goods, tastier foods, turnaround, and economic efficiency
Similarly, all good men suffer fate to lost mothers
Starve them grave, love true may never be
As all are never truly free
You see, sex does not liberate, and conquest isn’t brave
Smokescreen pleasures, conquest bereaved, exploit feebly
Starve us, love true
As youth applauds the starved
Decorated with plastic jewels
If it wrinkles just discard
Harvest us dry my depletion is harmless
But must you really look to the next,
When the last grain of sand is spent?
Profits write quite mischievously, “But what then?”
…Genetically broken children are born decorated with defects till none survive either wombs
Mother’s are also the tombs
And in light of today
Light shines rather grave
In air burdened by particle emissions
“Harvest depletion, oh children of eden!”
Quite angrily profits judge grievously,
“Society decay, crumble slow, and fade!”
Beginning with the subtle image of women
…In its final hour

—

Along The Way

Wayward traveler I met along the way…
I know your face but not the name.
Share with me from whence you came,
And I’ll name you a fellow seeker.
Past perchance have we met before?
Past romance, kith, kin, or vow to save the last dance.
Perchance quite ponderously, strange as it seems,
You appear a forgotten memory from a million footsteps ago,
And I tread lightly, I’ll have you know!

Wayward traveler I met along the way…
As night creeps in upon the day, tell me your tale!
I’ll write you a psalm to carry us beyond the grave,
And sing gently along…
As slumberous demons and sleepers awake to share that gentle gaze,
From four familiar eyes, two in each face,
That follow neither path nor plotted fate.
In memory of yesterday, let’s re-invent our today,
And tomorrow wont seem quite so grave.
Strange as it feels, have we once shared the same path?
And forgotten our last encounter a million crossroads ago…

Dear wayward traveler I met standing in the way…
Wayworn we meet, share a grin or a frown,
Some are lost, some deceased.
I’ll propose to you a toast, in memory of past defeats.
And until our paths cross again,
I’ll remember your face, but not the name,
As names dare do no justice to us.
…Those wayward travelers lost along the way.

-for M. you keep me [in]sane.

—

Words In A Feather

Nature behind a fence and cage
Man kept safe from their true place
I’m sorry, nature, it had to be this way…
But now something’s wrong with the clouds and the birds all die
The birds drop dead and before they go they tell why,
“One day a machine will cover the sky
To hide the sun to cover man’s eyes”
I’m sorry they don’t know what you represent
I’m sorry they’re so full of lifeless resent
I’m sorry, I know…
That if all the birds go,
All dreams will follow and leave man hollow
And if all dreams follow, so will freedom
And freedom will be no more
The spirit of freedom represented in flight…
What do I do with all that I know?
What do I do with all I can’t show?
…Nothing more but hide.

But something’s wrong with the air and the birds all die…
You are beautiful, please stay,
Freedom, don’t find another planet, don’t fly away
Don’t follow all the other spirit icons now extinct
God’s dreaming spirit, represented in wings
…Surrendered wings, clipping beautiful things
Behind a cage it sings
I’m sorry the sky is sick and killing you
I’m sorry, I don’t know why… we’re fooling who?
Just ourselves… we too will follow soon
One day, the birds forebode, a machine will replace the sky
To hide the sun, to cover our eyes
I’m sorry you all die
And what did my kind do with all that we knew?
What did my kind do with all we couldn’t prove?
Quite helplessly; nothing more but hide,
From the words written in a feather, ‘goodbye’.

—

Goodnight

Hey God, could you let up?
I’d appreciate just a little.
I know people like me don’t mean much.
…Although the president does.

Hey great big something or another out there,
Show that you care.
I know people like me shouldn’t dare,
To talk to you like that.
Although the pope can.
…You must like his hat.

Hey life dungeon master,
Could you scar me a little less?
I’m feeling depressed,
And the scars are finding it hard,
To hold those fleshy bits together.
But nonetheless, if you only answer stars,
I can repress what bubbles up… whatever.
…Those men in control of the world have nice shoes!

Hey somebody, could you let up?
I’m finding this a bit too rough.
I know you like your people strong,
But I’m not part of your flock,
And don’t make much of a martyr at all!
So please don’t burn me alive.
If that’s what you’ve got in mind?
…I agree, the queen has fabulous jewels!

Hey God, I’d like to be excluded,
And find some remote island where I can hide.
It’s just me, no one will miss this, so don’t mind.
It’s not like me missing will stop time.
You know I’m perfectly happy with less than little,
But if you don’t I can see why this is a piffle.
The president has a nice tie! …And I like it simple.

—

struggling to remain unafraid of what i saw the other day
treasure fever and minor misdemeanors leading up to bigger evils
misconceptions of god will not make me fear myself…
so everyone can have more of what they don’t need
the devil too, selectively breeds
humans for his needs
but what am is seeing?
reading between loss of history and meaning
eat now, there will be no peace
until we see
eat how can we ever be free?
as long as there are have and have nots
either way when does it ever stop?
great capitalists count their slaves
preaching pastors and their flock
greater rulers know how to deprave
and label creations divine as live stock
economies built upon us
forced to participate because we must
friends bargaining for trust
but who really weaves this web as thus?
in the end both devil and god return
to separate and take away
eat the depraved
counting lies I looked the devil in the eyes
he saw me just the other day
but i… i will not be afraid

—

Circumstantial straitjackets we’re wrapped in at birth.
Subconscious denials bind me blind, slow deaths hurt.
But what poisons me so slowly?
Industry doublespeaks, “natural causes!”
Naively deceived by plastic food, and anti-aging lotions.
Media soap box podiums loose me in deteriorating motions.
Bottled oceans, water is the new petroleum.
As breathing factories vent disease,
It’s not just me, we are the dying.
Tall structures built to glorify our achieved confinements,
The future will look back at their skeletons,
And regard them as discarded shackles.
Cast them off, bygone’s children…
Tomorrow is rising.

—

Heart Box

Can it please feel less?
That feeling in my chest.
I know the world isn’t real,
But still I have to feel.
Quieting that overburdened melody,
In my heart box.

Can I please cut it out in exchange,
For a bigger and more sensible brain?
Anything less quick to ache and pain,
Like something from a machine!
That’ll just beat, and beat, and beat, and beat…
All punctually punctilious,
And wholly inconspicuous.
Quiet you! Over-pronounced melody,
Considering my heart box.

Perhaps I can, please…
Contrive a means to make it cold?
I’d buy it as medicine for my soul,
And act my own age, stern and quite old.
Or perhaps I can hide it in the shoebox beneath my bed,
So I can feel seriously dead,
In a world that’s curiously feelingless.
And when I’m alone I’d let it out.
To cherish that sweet melody,
Of my heart box.

But still I choose to feel and see,
Because if I wouldn’t feel I wouldn’t dream,
And without dreams I wouldn’t be…
And I like naive fantasies,
Hoping one day I can make them real.
As I consider the thing that sings,
Admiring it’s beats and melody,
In my heart box.

—

With A Spoon

With so many fat people, I wonder…
Is this where all our natural resources go?
Obsessively consumed with food unobsession
Observe, health practitioners;
I count my unobsessed bites well…
Kill me with a spoon, my favorite hell…

I eat guiltlessly, guided by the certified wiser ones,
Pre-approved food stored safely in pre-counted calorie packs,
By those great gods of pharmaceutical luxuries.
Conspirators write noteworthy plots…
Please entertain me and my wondering thoughts.
Caught between substance abuse and credible use,
Kill me with another sample, my favorite abuse…

Incredible credit reports, the readings are flawless.
I’m a true patriot, judged by my wallet,
As revenues double in dollars.
Let them meet, that counsel of wealth
To approve new poisons guaranteed to sell.
They know I need it, sweet chronic atrophy.
Kill me with a pill to chew, my favorite hell…

Prescribed sleep, I’m awake but not me.
Feeble citizens need leaders,
And all good patriots agree,
There is pleasure in feeling feebler.
If I sleep I needn’t be free.
Cultured cancer in a late stage is to act your own age,
But how else to act in a thoroughly scientific world?
It’s all above my head,
Kill me with a subscription, my favorite naivety…

So let me warn you dear angel…
Let me tell you if you have wings…
Surrender them, your freedom of thought,
Cut, poison, and burn it all off!
Sleep may be death, but death can be sweet.
They demand forfeit, the industrial gods of chemical snake oil,
From the people we, that readily die on foreign soil,
From the people freed, surgically hollowed out humans.
Kill us a feast! With a spoonful,
Of our favorite toil.

—

You Know…

You know the world it ends,
When you close your eyes or blink.
The only person that’s real is you…
It’s all invented as you think.

You know the world it ends,
When your eyes aren’t seeing.
And when you look it’s all made new…
As the last one just stopped being.

You know the world it almost ends,
When you squint for just a bit.
The world you see is quite capricious…
And people just as fictitious.

You know the world completely ends,
When you close your eyes for sleeping.
And the world which you are dreaming…
More real than the one you’re seeing.

But where do all those worlds go,
Those lost between squints and winks?
And what do you do as the only real thing,
In a place made up by blinks?

Do you tell everyone they aren’t real,
And quickly blink them all away?
Or do you try real hard and strain,
To squint them all a better brain?

Maybe it’s best just to go about,
With your little secret, just in case,
Someday you see someone else…
Imagining a better place.

—

Sympathy for the Burning

Sympathy for the burning…
Poor god in a burnable book.
A sad fate of god, restrained to holly places.
That strange god made distant and faceless.
I’m caught contemplating the frustrating laws of proper prayer, good enlightened behavior, and cultured intellectual ‘izms’.
In quiet indoctrination to revere a compilation of Christ’s greatest, and God’s favorites, printed on environmentally friendly recycled paper.
Hats off, by the way, to a God that cares…
In puzzled musings of megalomaniac struggles between,
Creeping devils and great glorious gods of men,
Torn over righteous vengeance and turning the other’s cheek…
That good god of men, the preacher tells me, moves in mysterious ways.
I think the same, but movements aren’t the only thing that are strange.
Movements so vague…
Maker, maker contained on paper!
You faded maker of once upon great,
How I wonder in incredulous amazement;
If all these papers burnt… would you recreate them?
How nothing more insulting to religion than paper…
No easier a means of controlling belief than a compilation of paper,
About the once upon a god by long gone men of great.
But you, that I know is there that can not be written controlled or contained…
The spirit that defies the void and innate
The sublime thing, a book could not capture
Not bound to holly places or heard through marble saints
Neither insulted through gender debates, nor partial to cast or race
One that shamans and preachers can but guess at
Too repeatedly defiant to ritual sermons, or frustrating prescribed prayers
The lost thing written in me
Neglected relic of which I am
Strange echoes of sublime that I feel…
Not damned to heavenly prisons so honored by fabulous archangels of superstitions.
Thus in aspiration, sparked by passing contemplation,
That undertone of struggle to be neither master, slave, follower nor guru or a fellowship’s authority…
For as I am what I believe myself to be,
And as what I believe is what I choose to hear or see,
And I become what I choose to let in me,
Thus constantly made and unmade by myself,
Then… as I am, truly, do I deserve to be,
My own divinity.

—

Solitude I Flee

Save me!
You distractions from solitude.
How easy it is to seek comfort in the strain of day to day
In contemplation of those what-if’s and speculatives
Or precarious considerations of the great big come what mays
Fleeing the reflection found in quiet contemplation
Hiding in the shadow of friends and momentary companionship.
But who am I truly if I spent my life running,
From one spectacular truth to the next?
How much more convoluted a concept am I becoming,
How much less of me would I know or be?
And what am I truly but a concept or idea,
Changing from one opinion of myself to the next?
The point of view caught between past and future,
A memoir of self-aware decisions.
Who am I really?
A resume of beliefs?
A name defined by status?
A trend or racial theme?
Or perhaps ‘me’ is written between the lines of a job description?
But even God would appear as a burning bush and say “I am”,
But as I can not… stop to consider myself or my being,
And as I am not… either a combustible god, nor hedge,
And holly hierarchies define me as less,
I surrender my acquiescence to the restless…
Forever lost in those distractions,
From the solitude which I flee.

—

The Day I Found God

Today I found God!
In the palm of my hand…
In him I trust, to pay
My daily quarter-pound ham.
Obliged by my deity to spend
Sweet insatiable demands.
My God is generous and wants me to have;
Minivans, and drive-throughs, superficial devotions,
Better job performance, less headaches and more sex,
The more I have, the more I wish I had less…

Great pleasure-seekers addicted to routine!
Save my soul savings for satisfaction guarantees…
Humor me please, real people, real beef,
I am what I eat; domesticated meat.
Sweet liberty never felt so free,
When I spend my freedom on cable TV.
But what am I really, filled with the wisdom of slogans?
Talk show debates and coupon code rebates…
The more I have, the more I wish I was a nomad.

In the age of all-you-can-eats,
I never felt so hungry, or less pleased.
Slow surrender as I age, stimulated demise,
Understand me please, dear shrink, I can pay for sympathy.
But hunger devours, such strange hunger gnaws at me,
In unsatisfied growing measure.
The more I eat the less I feel,
While I eat I can feel free.
I’m told I need love, I can pay for empathy.
But the more I pay, the more I cheat myself of me…

Love me blind desire and passionate apathy.
Marketable devotion
Quoth the car salesman; “Try before you buy!”
And love became a slogan.
Do significant others come shrink wrapped in a package,
Designed in Cupertino, California?
Or are they more whole-salable?
En mass, economically stocked and stacked,
In membership warehouses where various brands,
Are available in various ethnic groups.
And what’s the exchange policy? I wonder…
Yet, the more I try before I buy, the more I wish I never had.

God in the palm of my hand,
With this God, I may have whatever I will.
And with this God, cups need not run over,
As this God proffers refills.
Then why, oh God, do I feel so empty?
Despite, oh God, cups being filled?
Oh God, my God, all knowing, all seeing,
Oh God have mercy on this dying being…
That God I wish I never had.

—

Slow Nevers

Such a future as never a future
A story I came to know well…
Mass autism, consequence of blind compliance
Insatiable addiction to stimulation.
Suffer them, the children of pleasure that hunger for substanceless comfort by ever increasing measure.
How much sicker their feeble descendants that
Surrender the generations to the quiet course of physical decay.
Never a future more vague than theirs
Crumbling slow, it whimpers, it fades
That great plasterboard civilization, carved out of clay.

—

The devil hides in the madness of the masses.
Not in the actions of the few.
True enemy, a great deception, but who are we to deceive?
I, ourselves, you, or me?
That great foe of any people lies not in prejudice determined by color, race, or creed.
It hides within the power hungry drive of a people,
The united whim, blind by their own wants and greed.
So who am I to point and speculate blame,
At any one christian, muslim, man or saint?
When the fool in each of us drives,
All the world insane.

—

Children Of Then

in the future how would they fare,
the children of then?
would they have to pay for air?
and suffocate the same way men starve?
but who’s to blame for what we are?
should we point fingers at those in charge?
at leaders,
at beliefs,
at politicians,
scientists,
or great powerful thieves?
when it’s none other but less than ‘we’,
and it’s easy to stay naive or believe
that one raindrop did not contribute to the flood
but still into that growing mass it fell
of others not contributing as well
till one day tomorrow was overcome
with children that had to pay for air
fear the sun, survive and despair
upon Earth that quaked, boiled, burned then broke
and in regards to what was so casually done a time before them
no greater grief known, but that of the children of then

—

Portrait of a Nomad

Nomadic Scriptures by the insane
i come from nowhere and will probably end the same
who am i then, not lost but forever wondering
through my nowhereland

along the way a man enlightened, so proud and great,
he knew to teach me the way
and directed me to

confide my soul to priests that boast possession over faith
and suffer religion to devalue god
into another cheapened artifact to fear
but i, truly mad, chose to suffer hell in life
rather than surrender myself to the proud and blind

Nomadic Scriptures from an unsound mind
i come from nowhere and speculate the same
who am i then, so faithless but still i pray
through my sweet nothingland

along the way a man successful, such fortune and fame
he knew to take from me the little i had
and lectured me that

self-satisfaction is worthy my submission
a master for my spirit, the artificial world of fickle ambition
where superficial desire devalues love and life
into a conscienceless commodity objectified to please the heartless shell
but i, truly mad, chose another hell and saw the rich as poor instead
suffering to be abused rather than the abuser
a warrior to fall as the last living exception, in the land of prospering slaves

Nomadic Scriptures of a beautiful delusion
i come from nowhere and my path is not paved
who am i then, neither lost nor saved
traveling through nowhereland

along the way a scholar man, academic of absolute truth and fact
among those knowledgeable select few, he was rigorous and exact
speedily he took to instructing me that

god is naught and all such mysteries long solved
for surely we live in the most advanced era so highly evolved
that we’re landlords of Earth and slave-owners of all its resources
man’s unsurpassed greatness, he thus resolved
places him as the most self-aware being in the known universe
sipping coffee from a paper cup he handed me a textbook mock-up
where he scrupulously prove to me the meaning of life
laid out over elaborate graphs and diagrams to prove he was right

Nomadic Scriptures of the daydreamer kind
i come from nowhere and will probably end that way
who am i then, not lost but forever wondering
through my makebelieveland

along the way a kindred man, heroes unnamed unsung untold and roaming
souls painted by homelessness, poverty, war, and desperate days
he knew not to know and boasted nothing but a smile on his face
dignified grace the eyes told all there is or was to say
so, in casual disregard to bygones and come what mays,
we nodded in silent respect and went our separate ways

The portrait of a nomad from the unwritten Scriptures

—

in the land of once-upon-a-time
the wind fell silent and the sky came to a halt
over unending desert where there where once rivers,
now cracks of sick earth, all water turned to salt,
a funeral for the last true plant that dies then withers
where the uncultivable of animal, displeasing to the palate, lie in bone
short-term greed reaps the proud seeds so long ago sown
in slow aftermath only manufactured impressions of life remain
when the only way of life is under artificial light
menacingly gnawing at the skin of superficial creatures
who became alien to their own being by financial birthright
their blood replaced with origin-less fluid
a weak abstraction of what once was
in the name of progress, they will boast
never to have seen more advancement than before
in the land of once-upon-a-time, where man became ghost

—

Spare me the company, friend or love
Deity, heaven, or all of the above
If love means to be loved for what I’m not
And salvation received from another that’s just as lost
When I know so well — it’s easy to tell,
Paradise has no place for me,
Disfavored by grace, freely I’ll follow those who fell
Left to my own devising, I plant myself a garden just outside of hell

—

Those that had little to begin with know they need less
Those that knew naught but wealth are truly repressed
Neither fortune, nor fame spares a lonely end
And even the greatest legends and legacies fade away
Friends come and go, and family might stay, but come what may
All I will ever have is myself and the little moments of today
Let the world convince me that I am but a menial dreamer
Beautiful naivety, my dreams are sweet and I’ll be freer
Let all strangers blind me with a thousand musts and needs
Rather ambitiously, my nothings are filling and I burned the rest
Let them put my will to test, and place my body in a carefully supervised cell
I’ll close my eyes and resign to the paradise that is mine
Unconventional views ascertain, it is not I that is unwell, caged, or enslaved
Reality lies in perception and I choose to suffer my own deception
As a charming failure painting smiles despite unforgiving gloom or cold
And when time reaps all, seeing the grandest grow weary and old
Let death come to take her rightful claim
Who then is to boast greatness when all that is ends the same

—

The old man dies and the young man crawls
The sick do the same and the poor knows all
But some rise to hold their head high
fearless of the night that falls
disregarding come what mays
or all the grievances of yesterdays
true beauty is forged from chaos
and in that beaten down moment of hopeless loss
neither god nor martyr will know a greater heaven
than the undaunted pauper who simply laughed at fate

—

tirelessly, I battle invisible monsters,
and combat fate along a journey I chose long ago.
no rest, where can I go?
to flee those inescapable demons and doubts.
greater men had died for less…
than relentless ideals or artificial ambitions.
circumstantial successes,
have seen many lost in a bubble.
those that live free are truly sublime,
and freedom is the conquest of fear.
ascension of the divine…
I am the consequence of what I choose to believe,
and the power of choice, none other but mine.
a delicate balance of perspectives,
perception is but opinion,
and hardship but a point of view.
greater men know how to endure…
those battles that make the heart pure.
therefore, I tirelessly battle invisible monsters,
wrestling god in pursuit of lost hopes and dreams.

—

hope is the mother of misery
i find myself growing weary of her presence
and outlasting tests of time
to beg mercy of an invisible god that isn’t there nor doesn’t care
and re-invent reasons to endure
attempt after trial, unto my last breath
make-believe defeat, faithlessness is a passing cure
even the strongest can’t persist indefinitely

–

analyzing life stopped in the middle of a thought
i caught myself again, contemplating end
left to brush off nightmares i simply can not mend
nevertheless… despite all, i still am
and strength is heaven sent
if i could i would run fast, hard, and far
the spirit will scar just as easily as the body does
if you’re naive enough to care…
so i choose to hold no grudges and turn away hurt
pondering past wrongs is to give them more attention than they deserve
bygones be forgiven, lest enemies change me for the worst
if life’s a stage i wont act i’ll write my play
and refuse to let fear deprive me of tomorrows
or allow past ills to direct the outcome of today
whether my cup’s half empty or half full makes no difference
i believe in refills
beaten down, i dug my escape from many dark holes
abandoned by friends and left alone
no one needs to hold me i learned to hold my own
suspicious of helping hands and kind intentions
the good things i have i hold close
never to barter for misconceptions of a better life
the grass is just as green on any side as it is where i stand
the ground is whatever color it’s seen as
so… a nomad homesick for a place i do not know
i take the world as my own and invent paradise

—

dead trends, and lost feelings
leave vacant bodies where a man’s soul would be
infatuated by commodities and small talk
washed out love songs, and greeting card cliches
everything can be had, even love, but is it true?
a civilized life is stripped of meaning
I take comfort in knowing I can die
sweet solitude, there’s no place I’d rather be
and no other company I’d rather keep
hiding within myself I find refuge in dreams

—

intellectual decay
starting out struggling, most genius never sees the light of day
the clutches of poverty breed self hate
as for survivors…
to stand out from the rest is a bitter fate
a novelty item to be used, scolded, and discarded
those that break; Suicide takes as its dearly departed
it’s a pleasant addiction to loose yourself in material wealth
self worth is a trophy on a well dusted shelf, and enlightenment for sale in aisle twelve
strangely enough, everyone is a slave forced to participate
the devil’s reincarnate is the toil for money and success
regarding the value of the two, i couldn’t care less
not worthy its weight for my self-respect
so i play along, pay my dues, and avoid this mess
intellectual survivors know how to pretend
as a well kept secret lost among the rest

—

lovely underneath
looks can deceive
my aspiration is to create a masterpiece
the only true possession i have is me
therefore, playing god, i create myself from nightmares and dreams
respect of wealth is to disrespect the self
no legacy will last, regardless of how great
everything that is shares the same fate; an end
never to be seen or heard from again
all in good time…

lights in the darkness
muses have conquered their essence
ascension to the divine is refinement of the soul
pure in all its intentions, true creation is genuine
an expression from the core
unclouded perfection from the sincere of heart
art, a reflection of man, serves to bring the soul closer to the divine
and the divine is the self
beauty is honest, and fearless to stand unique
to, despite all the world, accept and to be

—

i find no pride in where i’m from but am proud of what i’ve become
past scars and struggles can make you beautiful if you let it
then i’ll step aside and paint my soul out of messes
freedom is to bear no resentment
if the divine is to create beauty out of chaos
then god resides as a dormant choice in everyone
i’ll make something divine of myself, quarantine the rest, and never look at the past
the beauty of life is to let it be what it is and that is whatever you see it as
so i choose to laugh at hell and shrug off heaven
in an ambitious effort to become an element of my own, free of definition
with nothing to fear but myself i’ll be my own remission

—

burning bridges and concealing footsteps
leaving no tracks lest i find a way back
the intent? to get as far away as possible from where i’m from
traceless remains, i wish memory would do the same
avoiding the psychological aftermath written in sores and hurts
trying not to think of what happened because it could of happened worst
lost battles are often victories concealed
but i don’t care as long as i don’t have to feel
some things you must lose before you realize you needed them
some things you don’t need until you’ve lost them
a blessing regained is something to hold close to the heart
something to set apart
men can love angels if they take the chance
nothing divine is to great to grant
even the devil is proffered redemption
the only obstacle is conceit
victory springs from fearlessness of defeat
and fearlessness comes from fearlessness of one’s self
therefore i choose the road untraveled
oblivious to obstacles and regardless of scars
as long as it caries me far

—

counting brushstrokes like days
painting with the colors found in rain
waiting for a change in season to wash it all away

so that i may investigate new ways of being
and despite all obstacles find reason to keep breathing
choosing to stand on uneven land, subjected to hope

the power of life, submissive to no consequence
in the core of the demon and eye of the hypocrite
two faced friends and traitors weave their end
victims of their own devising

needing no god to find true enlightenment
pure in heart, a man can be his own muse
so i’m left to second guess absolutes ingrained
while counting my brushstrokes and painting with stains

—

suicide notes present tempting propositions
missing departed friends while deconstructing afterlife
and investigating lost dreams between the cracks in concrete
if holding-on is what i’ve been doing all my life isn’t letting-go the most humane thing left to do?
wrestling with reason, i’d give anything for an end
not to see what i see when i close my eyes
or think what i do in moments of silence
in consideration of consequence…
no comfort is worth my soul
to surrender battle is to betray past defeats
so i choose to wait patiently

—

Masters of fate
Fend off consolation and dodge tears
Pity is insult to injury
Anything worth having is worth fighting for
As for my life, I’ll take it by the horns
Wrestle it to the ground and beat out of it what I want
Even if it’s been so long, I forgot what I’m beating it for…

—

In the valley where shadows roam
Tracing circles in the sand wondering where things end and where they began
Chasing the sun at the end of a never ending tunnel
Light shines it’s brightest in the dark
I’ve come to love the simple things, romanticizing in moments
Searching for deeper meanings in everyday motions
If everything ends now it was all worth it
If fire makes the heart pure then I take my place with the downtrodden and deserted
Truth be spoken, the rich are poor and the struggle is strangely divine
Life is the power of persistence
Regardless…
I choose to be the friendless nomad hoping to be consumed by that fire
burnt to the vein and crushed to the bone
only to rise again freer than before
as a being of my own

–

remembering digging through trash looking for food
and avoiding people afraid of abuse
a slave in a slum, overworked and slowly growing numb
will i ever be free of where i’m from?
it took a lot of courage to escape
it takes more courage to keep going and not break
to board up old memories and put together the pieces
one thing i do believe in…
to recognize beauty you have to first experience the ugly

–

Searching for myself I found revelation in hell
Life’s struggle taught me well
No truth exist but that of my own conviction
No meaning stands but that of my own devising
And evils are only as relevant as I let them be
I am what I make of myself and all that I will ever have
I am free

—

We’ll All Fall Down

In a petshop behind glass
A little animal dying on display
Life…
Mass produced for consumption
Life…
Living toys that better play
But it doesn’t mater
No need to ask questions when all you have to do is behave
From the cradle to the grave

Shame…

Shame on the fool that believes what he’s shown
Shame on him twice as he thinks what he’s told
Shame on us all, swept away by the crowd
Oh carefree, sweet people, silent is that sound
Of a world which crumbles and collapses, as we all fall down

For shame on these circumstances
But what can you do as a number trapped in masses
Prisoners of life, lost to warning signs and law-abiding passages
The mall is your birth right in the land of rationalism
An obligation to buy or die, as we all fall down

Shame on the needy
The third world wants to sell their children for your TV
But the neighbor has two so he’s more human than you
Reality being; the admirable are greedy
But who am I to speak of shame, when the situation is all under control
Here in the grey land, where the concrete forests grow
All of Earth shall be paved over, held together by cement and wads of bubble gum
A shame it is not to be proud
There will be hard ground, as we all fall down

But what is shame when you have money to eat
A noteworthy bribe, life; easy, effective, affordable and cheap
No need to worry when all are kept in check
The human automatons, machines need not replace us after all
Lost souls of the rat race that float past drive through windows, comfort is the mall
There is an unwritten passage somewhere in a bathroom stall; we’ll all fall down

In a petshop behind glass
A little animal died on display
Life…
Has no place if it can’t function
Life…
Has a price you’d better pay
But why does it matter
No need to ask questions, it is best that you behave
If you’d like to see tomorrow and get through today

Shame…

—

Tiny children of chance that proudly boast an afterlife
Why so fearful of death then?
Trapped on a world cast in asphalt, and drowning in plastic
The grey planet
Modern suffocation
Sophisticated and efficient
Lost to pattern and routine
Air-conditioned oxygen
And fabricated families
Life, perfected and deformed
Into a higher standard…
It doesn’t mater to me
I think I died at birth

—

Fade gently…
Self induced extinction and destructive tendencies.
Painting methane skies and boiling seas.
You see, it doesn’t matter if we all die,
Since no one else would know.
After all, we where just another dot in the sky.

—

Strangers

Secret defiance! I found a spark of life…
Seditionist verse, hidden between concrete cracks,
And decorated by shards of broken glass.
In solitude, a flower considered a way to grow.
As a colorful impostor, occupying the corner of Gray Grove.
“Progress makes strangers of us all.” I told it,
As the stop-light declared it time to go.

Smuggled truth! I found a fragment of wisdom…
Poor righteousness, hung beneath fluorescent flickers, sighting a selection of vandalism.
In solitude, a poet considered a revelation and left it’s blueprints in obvious indignation
As a crumbling movement brushed across the grains of a forgotten wall
“Even though I dread, I choose to live free of regret.” I commented, a stranger to it all
As the No-Loitering sign reminded me to go.

Tired eyes! I found reason for resign
Suffocating in strife, begging for change and table scraps of life
Beside the old church holding out a paper cup
To believers and saints passing him by
But God’s grace moves in strange ways, they had already given their tithe
So he waits, a fading dream the living rather not see
As hope is the mother of misery, it’s hard to find reason not to give up the fight
“Suicide is for those too smart for life.” I stopped and thought

Yesterday’s horrors fill tomorrows with dread
Some call it a beautiful struggle, others don’t live to see the end
I’ll be honest, to me, no one is a friend
Condemned to fruitlessly toil and dream, if this is life I have no desire to be…

But one thing I do know for certain,
One thing I came to see;
If you have razor blade scars
Keep those close to your heart
Because life’s not worth dying for…
So as master of my fate
And captain of my soul
I bow now, and confess it time to go.

—

Ghosts

 

I’m dancing through life on splintered feet… The devil rejoice in the poor man’s grief.

 

 

God…
They say; he made us in his own image.
Homicidal, inconsiderate, insane?
Cold to the suffering of others?
How I would hurt you back!
You! Of all! To suffer like us!
If only I had the chance.
Show me your face, you coward! …”
Says the developing alcoholic.

If all men have been created equal then why don’t all men live equal?
Says the mass produced retail refugees.
How I fear to once more,
Suffer the fate of the poor.
Bankrupt ghosts pushing about metal mesh and wheels,
Bearing those last belongings in a shopping cart,
A cold mockery of their inability to consume and to buy.

 

…The rich plow about those devises as well,
Across polished floor for short periods of time,
Filled with un-necessities boasting to enhance their lives.

 

Modern ironies of a strange society,
Unable to pity those that surrendered to struggle,
And wait for sellers to take repossession over life.
“Stop breathing, the air is mine!”

 

But, over time, we all die
Leaving the same way we came,
An inconsequence to the Universe,
As little things obsessed with nothing,
Inventing reasons as why to try.

 

–

 

Poverty

 

The root of evil is the shadow of the beast.
That cruel thing called poverty.
Biter, angry, cannibalizing, defeat.
To hopelessly lie at the bottom of the bottomless pit.
A place where suicide tastes sweet.
Where it is a curse to breathe.
And love a terrible lie.
Where friendship is a distant myth and families know only to weep and cry.
Where men loose themselves trying.
A place where the only comfort is the blinding deception of another’s ideals and dreams.
But how should truth mater here?
It is a worthless absurdity.
Clouded by things that struggle keeps one from seeing.
Give hell another name, and surely it would be poverty.

 

–

 

I stand as a shadow in the land of ghosts. Still born
…Abandoned to the habitual rhythm of everyday.

 

 

–

 

Spiders

 

Fragments of a dream
Woven into a web of misconception

 

I’ve been trying so hard i forgot what I’m fighting for
I’ve been fighting so hard that I finally lost myself

 

Lost…
Who am I?

 

The promised land was never promised me
Utopia is a lie
Fashioned from the fabrics of naivety

 

Reality is a world of greed
Where those that eat to live are preyed upon
By those that live to eat

 

Here it’s easy to mock the needy for being weak
And the starving?
…How they do desperate things

 

It hurts to live like dirt

 

Oh you fools!
Whose song are you dancing to?

 

Won’t you see?
What you do to the children?
Suffer them…
Curse us for what we leave them!

 

An unforgiving place,
Infested with sorrow
Earth
Angered by the deeds of yesterday

 

They will have no future
No tomorrow

 

…But I

 

I will be no god’s fool,
No leader’s belittlement,
No man’s mean to the end.

 

…Instead, like a spider, I watch.

 

Lost… at least i found myself
Trapped in that reality of pain
And suffering
A simple beauty in conquering the impossible
Free now, no evil will ever overcome me again!

 

–

In Rosebushes

 

In rosebushes I wish to lie
Buried beneath crimson clouded skies
Tangled in thorns
Never to shed
Another drop of blood or tear
I will be hidden
From life’s torment and fear

 

Disregarded by time
I will forget how to speak
Never…
To utter another idle thought

 

In this place where the past buries its dead
Everything fades from memory until finally lost

 

As the wind comforts me
With it’s warm whisper
My face grows lurid…
Slowly
Let it wither!

 

For it is beneath that blushing sky
Bound in twisting rosebushes
Where lifelessly
I will forever lie

Forgotten

 

 

 

–

What haunts a new refugee’s sleep?

 

Who, who, who, who,

Who broke the refugee?

 

The, the, the butcher,

The hater,

The great big decision maker.

Turn them out!

Traitors all three.

 

–

 

Because I can do naught but grieve
This ever-twisting tale I see
Of a crumbling world drenched in greed
It’s nations drunk on mad conceit
And their patriots that bask beneath
The shadows of their omni-righteous deities
I’ll close my eyes and in that joy of sleep
Out of pain,
Paint a dream…

 

–

 

The Student

 

Suffer the little children unto their last breath, and forbid them to be, for such is the will of the state. Verily I say unto you, whosoever shall not break as a child, he shall not enter therein. And he took them up from 8:00 to 3:15, conditioned his will upon them, and made them as the empty and dead.

 

I am the student
I am the learned deceived
The dreamer not permitted to achieve

 

I am the disciplined kept on a leash
The one biting my tongue not licensed to speak

 

I am the oppressed, tyrannized, the victimized wishing to be free
I wish behind gates where I’ve been penalized
My age is the crime for which I’ve been institutionalized

 

I am the pupil
The follower, the listener
The prisoner, analyzed, corrected, improved, then approved
The taught with a thousand censored thoughts

 

I am the listless puppet whose limbs move wherever they ought
I am the child, the adolescent, and the youth
The pet taught to be passive
If I do not heed I will face rebuke

 

I see the way I am supposed to see
And speak the way I am supposed to speak
I assume my position and am where I am required to be
I must be discrete not to displease

 

I’m the slave told I am free
I am the hypocrite that pledges to the hypothetical flag
The fool that faces this foolish rag
Driven mad by the fact that I’m promised life, liberty, and happiness

 

–

 

Cold,
Cold,
Cold,
…How I feel alone in a crowd
Crying inside because Me is not allowed.

I am…
Empty
Empty like an empty book
Told how to think and how to look
Living according to graphs and diagrams
Of ordinary Men and Women
I know don’t exist
The skeleton of a soul
Unable to be filled or grow
Eager to please

…Please
I am numb
I am gray
But… I feel?

 

–

 

Tears fall like feathers in silent oblivion.

 

–

 

In the shadow of the beast, I lost myself trying.

 

–

 

When ashes, ashes, ashes, ashes, ashes clouded the sky
Mother came running, running, running, running, running, and told us all to hide

 

–

 

Moths And A Candle

 

Hungry consumers
From the land of opportunists
In pursuit of happiness,
Credited the world away.

 

Father, father if you’re there,
Oh god, oh please, show you care.

 

Justice is a hopeless dream,
Lost among those angry screams,
From the monk with kerosene.

 

Father, father, are you deaf?
Oh god, oh please, this feels like death!

 

Truth is a casualty when nations bury their wrongs,
Casting the shadow of bullets and bombs,
On broken hearts and Wounded Knee,
On tired eyes deceived by dreams,
On families crushed through poverty,
Faceless bodies, gray flesh, and grief.

 

Father, father, I beg exist!
Oh god, please stop! End all this!

 

Deceived by lies in the land of pride,
Where wealthy leach hope off the weak,
The poor are banished to the streets.
Where greedy economies prepare their feast,
Feeding the consumer and the beast.
Where soldiers become faceless statistics sacrificed for success,
We leave our children a world condemned to death.

 

But darkness, darkness, no one’s there,
A shadow of life leading nowhere

 

–

 

Freedom From Dignity

 

I am the still-born future,
The aftermath of theory.

 

I am a surreal phantasm trapped inside a madman’s dream
Created by a delusive educator who failed to conform me into the institutionally- approved human being
An unachieved prospect whose mind became deluded with unacceptable perceptions of- reality
Diagnosed as another socially challenged abnormality
I was hastily graduated, dismissed, and formally banished into society
Condemned to become the well marketed must have dreamer, entertaining commercially- promoted fantasies, while cowering behind Television’s far-fetched illusions so that I- may numb my distraught yearnings to be free
Behold! Before you stands a human
The scientifically renowned walking mass of organic goo
Evolutions chanced achievement
Foolishly deceiving myself into believing that I’m a product of divine creation whose-life bears infinite meaning
I this thinking piece of meat
Made sub-atomic among indefinite numbers of human live-stock
A unit specially bread for labor, schooled into ignorance by another of histories-self-righteous civilizations
Forgotten on a earth which is hopelessly lost among countless other earths
There is where humanity great and unsurpassable slowly vanishes from memory
Cast into unfathomed armies of worlds, that shrink to particles of dust as they clutter- unending skies with limitless constellations
Cloudy formations of stellar patterns, which create the Milky Way
An over populated fiery spiral passing unnoticed amid boundless myriads of other- galaxies
All listlessly adrift within the universe’s ever expanding eternity
And, somewhere, lost in never ending multitudes
Buried among the cosmos ceaseless display of kaleidoscopic chaos, is a self-important- molecule desperately trying to be significant
Another trivial spark of life quickly obscured into oblivion by the incalculable grandeur- of infinity
This is your individual, the fool hiding behind conceit
Only proud because I’m ignorant of myself and humanity
My body is my prison where I have been self-condemned to insecurities solitary- confinement
Isolated so controversy remains only restless thoughts
Unborn poetry that, if given being, could unleash a maddened uproar of suppressed disquietude in raving floods of verbal fit
No! Such words, given voice, are dangerous and must be aborted
The offender quickly crushed into submission by social handicaps, in institutions- confining grip
Truth ought not dare to escape
Therefore let those silent protestations scratch at the caverns of my skull
Time, with the resignation of age, will eat away all youthful incentives for opposition- and make their claws dull
Look at me and you will see a living example of irony
The thoroughly flattered human would-be under the influence of acceptance
With such eagerness striving to appease status quo that I make me my own enemy by committing the crime of apathy
Willingly suffering under self-inflicted captivity while listlessly cleansing my thoughts- so that they may reflect the social standard of healthy patterns for a scientifically prescribed institutionally processed mind
Oh! Behold that which was meant to be human
This credulous and indifferent fool carelessly degraded into another statistic
Tagged, numbered, then filed among nameless masses of dehumanized and refined- beings
Irrational, superstitious creatures who once mistakenly believed to be divine, at last- liberated from the tyranny of integrity by faithful obedience to structure and system.

 

–

Break the children, bleed the people, and the rich shall inherit the earth.

 

I was born to be cattle feed for politicians
A ladder for the upper class to carry them higher
Now I voicelessly call myself a liar
As I bear their goals on my back

 

I hear the pledge and the truth it lacks-
That meaningless allegiance to life, liberty, and happiness
These words haunt me as I toil and slave for another’s gain
I dared honor them- bound by social chains

 

I am here to be an economic resource
My class is the disease and work the only cure
I dream of release, but it is not mine to procure
Work will set me free

 

I must hush that burning dream of liberty
For I am only a unit of labor
And have been given that grade and label
Which tells me who I can be
After all where would the world be with actual democracy?

 

I am obliged to willfully receive my portioned existence
With the least or no show of resistance
I am expected not to know
For knowledge makes one’s mind grow
And there is no room for individuality in status quo

 

Ignorance is bliss and requires less space
It is least selfish to remain in a mindless state
Therefore I should not question my chosen place
Or ever attempt to rise above the confinements of my social fate

 

I was born to listlessly bear these chains
And choke back tears as I neglect my lacerating pains
For I feel myself lingering away to empty dreams
Falling, I scream muted pleas and unvoiced prayers for relief
That none will ever heed
For they are merely vulgar notions
Unstable moods brought about by adolescent emotions
There is no reason to be so discontent

 

Yet, I fear one day I might assent to the system I resent
Relinquishing within the bitter torment of that appalling reality-
My life is not mine to live

 

–

 

Angel

I met an angel that had two wings
Now they’re broken with dreams that remain unspoken
Silenced, for dreams carry you to high
And when you look down
You might not like what you see
You won’t come back once you’re free

 

I watched the piper play his melody
He beckoned all the angels from the sky
And trained them to labor for another’s paradise

 

I met an angel that beamed to bright
With thoughts to noisy for ears
Truth must be silenced before anyone hears
Therefore they drowned the fire in his eyes
With waves of experts that told him otherwise

 

“You mustn’t have to much passion for life.”

 

I saw an angel that was too free
And disregarded authority
He leaped past his gates of captivity
They sawed off his wings so he wouldn’t fly

 

I watched an angel suffocate on her leash
Her collar grew far to tight
Giving one last disturbing sigh
As their grip tightened
She took her life

 

I listened to an angel cry
She let her tears shower from the sky
In a bitter attempt to be heard
The world took cover, waiting for her eyes to dry

 

I watched those angels grow
As their wings got smaller they fell bellow
And vanished within that inhuman society
Where they never wished to be

 

–

 

Strange Dreams

 

Strange dreams…

Stir now, sleeping consumers!
Discomforted by unthinkable acts of self-preservation.
Another sacrifice to the Greater Good left bloody bodies that blatantly clog our conscience with their memory.
Victims of self-justified, pre-forgiven atrocities remembered only as nameless statistics that slowly melt into our collective forgetfulness.
The controversial stench of guilt is easily sanitized, then dismissed, before entirely buried in today’s trivialities and tomorrow’s news.

 

eat

Smile now, oh self-proclaimed elite!
Leaders that make fools of your people
and cannibalize life
Today the gluttons make a feast
Wealthy murderers guiltlessly rejoice in the spoils of blood as they declare victory.
God has blessed those who oppress in the name of their own well-being.

 

…god?

Where are you now, oh absent deity?
The one that made man, then walked away, and has long been reasoned out of existence.
Your holy men do unholy things then hide behind their holy scriptures.
If they speak the truth then god must be a hypocrite!
Nothing more than a pointless riddle written into holy books.
…deaf, blind, and mute.

 

death

 

This is the death of man.
Incarnated into that abhorrent form of a deified Nation.
An omnipotent demon, drunk with conceit, casting the shadow of fear and of grief
Of bullet and bomb…
To reap death, that mad fruit of power and pride.
Bred upon the faces of fathers, while lacerating the flesh of children, and tearing apart the hearts of mothers.

 

strange bitter dreams…
Sleep.

 

–

 

Weak
My world coming to an end
Falling apart nothing makes sense
Love is the deception of a moment
And family a self inflicted lie
If I had tears left I would cry
Oddly enough I still chose to smile and hide
Bearing a disguise that slowly wears with time
Fooling none but myself
Fooling myself
A fool to myself
Not sure why I try

 

–

 

A Dream

 

I waited for the mute to speak
And tell of their wisest thoughts
I waited for the wars to cease
Oh, the vanity of what I sought

 

I waited for utter silence
From the funeral bells
and from man’s violence

 

I waited for a tiny laugh
For the broken hearted to be glad
How I waited and it drove me mad
It was all of this I wished to see
But life it seems can’t be a dream

 

–

 

The Story of Nothingman From Cubicleland

 

“Dig your six foot hole for the rat race,
Sell your soul for the rat race,
Your time ticks away, so make haste!
If you wish to win this rat race
And become rich in this mad place.”

 

Highflyingman from Makebelieveland
Began the day with big dreams and plans.
His face looks just like your’s and theirs,
All shining, fresh and grand,
And far to young to understand,
That he was standing in quick sand.
So he leapt into the rat race,
And vanished without a trace.

 

Nobodyman from Nothingland,
Comes in early and leaves late,
To earn his nothingwage.
He toils and slaves,
Has never lived a day,
And hopes things will change,
But his hair is turning gray,
From living in this nothing Nowhereage.

 

One day Nobodyman decided to take matters into his own hands,
And came up with a neverplan!
…While talking to an office plant.
He would quit, then walk away,
And finally escape,
By abandoning his place,
To seek life and its meaning.
But, instead, relinquished to daydreaming.
He was trapped in society’s nowheremaze.

 

Nobodyman from Nothingland!
As years wore him with age,
He turned old, and gray, and slowed his pace,
So they finally put him away.
A retired fate in that dead-end place,
Alongside all the others with a wrinkled face.

 

Forgotenman from Hasbeenplace
Died, but long had been replaced,
With another Nobodyman,
Eager to fill his unoccupied space.
None remembered his name,
And as his memory fades,
He vanishes without a trace.

—

Hummingbird catchers

Hummingbird catchers
String their nets high
Traps to show
Nectar, crimson, gold
A heart to entice
Hearts to snare
I want to buckle and fold
At times like these the world feels cold
But times like these
Are a testament to strength of soul
And I’ve got one to show

Hummingbird nets cast
How long will it last?
Great men do unspeakable things
The greater believe it helps them win
But greatness isn’t measured by the weight of sin
It’s measured by the strength within
What you do, and put another through…
“Greatness Ill excused!”
Are words of some cast-away muse
Hummingbird abuse serves us no use
It may temporally amuse, but soon it gets old.
When all the greatest have colors in true to show
Nectar, crimson, and another’s gold

Hummingbird snatchers
I heard they’re collecting hearts
And wished upon stars
Messengers beating wounded drums
It’s a song to regret
Bitter notes in my head
Keep it so it can last
God knows they’re trying
Beating too fast, keep it from flying
You can keep it, hopefully from dying
Steal a heart, and greed makes one deaf then dumb
Feel my stolen heart thrum

Hummingbird trappers plotting soon enoughs
I can hear them
A message for the scheming
Greed makes us all dead
So come death, you among free men
These wounds hurt, but you can’t see them
For each evil, I feel less
For each blow to me
I grow all the more fearless
So come face me, dear bitter demons!
And tell them boldly that I too am a human being

Tell Me Why, Robot Girls Don’t Ever Cry
(From Project: Robot Girl)

Knowing it’s your favorite toy,
My dear human boy,
I’ll tell you why
Robot girls don’t ever cry…
Their beauty is quite deceiving
They cannot feel, so don’t believe in
What she tries to say
And come what may, but that skin isn’t even real!
It’s made to appeal
And just so they know how a boy feels
This is an angry love letter from a real human being…
At any rate, she’s quite man made
And “man” is better to be, my dear
So, knowing she’s a scam,
My lovely human boy, yes you can
Take her to please you
It’s perfectly ok if you want to
Steel her heart, her mind, those artificial robot eyes
Or whatever beats inside, so oddly animated by
Electric dreams of butterflies
You could even try
To connect to her brain via satellite
Then pillow talk her lovely lies…
And so, my dear, you see sometimes
She may have the spunk to fake-cry
But those tears, be wary, like her skin
Are reality that’s but paper thin
Mimicry, at it’s best, ambition
She knows you’re watching and is making fiction
You know it’s true, she can be whatever you choose
Most believably, you have to hand her that
She’s not human!
That’s a fact…

—

Debt
(From Project: Robot Girl)

debt collectors
come to collect
what is not owed
eat another piece
of mind, and soul
as the song goes
when it started
or how it ends
nobody knows… it beats me
beyond black or blue
it’s a different hue
taken along the way
before the king to, as they say,
give Ceasar his dues
but when Ceasar asks for more of you
what would you do?
placebo lies, and fake truths
all in due time,
as they come to take not what’s mine,
but me…
so, where would you hide?
when they come to collect a mind.

Impossible Monsters
(From Project: Robot Girl)

I’m facing impossible monsters
If the devil knew he’d attend too
There are many not just a few
When it comes to impossible monsters
I feel like I’m dying slow
So where did my future go?

Impossible monsters
With impossible fangs, and unbelievable jaws
Things I can’t stand…
As god is my witness,
I had it up to here with it all!

Impossible monsters
Turning me for every flaw
I’m in unrelenting hands
Conjuring mental escape plans
And off goes the siren!
Attempts fail, their grip, like iron…
A weight on my soul, freedom a long ago goal
Freedom, you’re impossible!
Where did my freedom go?

Impossible monsters
How I worry about those I love the most
Impossibilities can be deceiving
Who knows on whom the monsters will be feeding
I know, paranoia, she eats me
I sound delusional, and it grieves me

Impossible feelings
“I too, am a human being!”
But I blame me
For all the impossibilities here, when
Inflicted terror and dread
Gnaw at both heart and down beaten head
If the devil knew, he too would attend
As I’m kept here facing fear after fear
Impossibly wishing for a happy end.

Strange Times
(From Project: Robot Girl)

These are troubled times, love
I don’t know if I’ll ever get out
With a face, any grace,
Slightly askew, or out of place
Glaring into monstrous jaws, then uncaring eyes
Men above the law, or I’ve sunk too low
Oh god, I don’t know…
But god, dear god, these seeds I did not sow
Grievous fruits endure, these are not mine!
Nevertheless I must eat
How it eats me relentlessly
Indeed then, these are desperate times

These times are strange, oh love
Despite reprise I’ve had enough
What lies ahead? Another birdcage? Soon enough…
I believe myself perfect someone let me be
Brilliant in every way, no wrongs to see
But hungry jaws invent theory, turning me for flaws
Come to devour dreams, and vision, breathing ambition
Tanners strip, butchers take too much and more
Ruptured heart left a sore, take it and it’s yours
Accusers keep what they call a whore
So burn a cross, just for me, and do remember to keep
The raging fires nice and warm…
Nevertheless, despite burning flame or fiery ember,
These are dark times, my love

These are lost days, love
Hopeless I fought to perhaps see better
Bottomless sinners might as well be winners!
When I’m blinded by what seems never-ending winter
Perhaps I need a savior to save what’s left of mine
Oh, god where are you? My god, sole co-creator
Remember me, please? My god, soul maker,
In my beauty; honor, in my divine; strength
So by all that’s divine, there’s nothing to resent
In me, dreaming stars, reaching cosmic art
And when woman dare call herself god’s muse
You know she’s a force to be reckoned with
It’s no use, so spare her abuse.
I’ve had more than I can stand, lies then theoretic truths
And this… This is the bitter aftermath.
The desecration of the feminine
Is the desecration of god’s most perfect creation
These are strange times for love…

How Much More?

How much more, god?
“As much as you can stomach and more!”
Grief, fear, then dread…
A crown of thorns
To decorate my head
Weave a robe of dry tears long ago shed
Bitter jewelry to hang from my ears
They will wear me till I’m dead

How much more, god?
“I don’t think you’ve suffered quite enough!”
Here’s relief, but I’ll call it a bluff
None for me, and I know what’s rough
When god says to you, he wants no love
But submission, and soon enough
Knees buckle, barb wire heart hung
Grief in the stomach, to fill the lung
Too melodramatic? Then how would you like it sung?

Up, down, or sarcastically cheery?
It’s the same feeling felt till I’m weary
So how should I wear my tired head
When god answers but rarely?
Hope I drink of you till I’m drunk
Because when god does, my heart all but sunk
The odds aren’t divided fairly…
But there’s a spark!
Some divine insinuation when it gets too dark
Either ridicule, solemn sympathy,
Or bottomless hope in a hopeless situation
Something to feel in me

Still, I consistently return to the beginning
Yes, god, it’s me that you hear singing
Since I’m so decorated with punishment before any sinning
Asking of you, from desperate to gently,
How much more, god?
Your trials are far too plenty.
I’ve said it before
You’ve heard it and still hear it all more
Thorns how you like it, stones for the feast
Reap what’s not sown, all crops for the beast
God grant me a miracle, just this once, please
God take my burden, god let me be free

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Poems by Nathalie Lawhead. Poems may be reproduced, for non-commercial purposes, if credit to the author (Nathalie Lawhead) is given.

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