Morgan Le Fey

Recognize where my intentions lie by looking deep into my eyes, you will find I don’t disguise the things that others try to hide – I hate the lies, I hear the cries of all the lives they criticize while all they do is formalize and advertise how we should live and demonize the ones who try to ask them why. Why should I cover my eyes and take advice from all these guys who hate it when the people rise and reach for things they fantasize while spending all their time in ties telling us that they’re so wise but behind curtains womanize, destabilize, plagiarize and traumatize?

Look.

I don’t know if this writing thing will ever weave this thread a string. All I know, as theories go, is that there’s so much that we don’t know. Sure, I’m sure that if a show was something that I’d want to throw, I’d own the stage and make it known that what I say turns stop to go. Lighting fires – I live for this, and you what? I’d be remiss if I surrendered, gave the keys and lost my passion to the abyss. You think I’m hateful? Here’s a kiss. Im sorry if you think that this is something I do for the sys it’s not, I promise, look at this – my feelings all just reminisce.

There’s melancholy in this body, so much I hardly know what’s bliss. I’d take a guess but I confess that all my thoughts would be dismissed.

Where on Earth can I begin? Writing days and on weekend, every time I press the send my mind retreats to things I’ve penned. Words have taken hold on me, clutching every time I breathe. Owning every cry and plea and laying with me, comforting.

My mind’s the kind that can’t unwind it tries to see but knows it’s blind if God’s behind the mastermind who drew, outlined this humankind then sorry friend, his frame of mind was not aligned with what should be – I’m disinclined to get behind the too-refined for all my thoughts are unconfined.

That is to say, to Who I pray – I will not give my thoughts away. I will not let my heart betray the things which I have pledged to say. There’s too much I need to convey.

This mind is Arthur – they’re Le Fey.

It’s Fickle, Fame

Samuel Jack was forty six

In his first big gig: that flick Pulp Fix

Martha Stewart was no name

Till forties came, then she gained fame

Guess who else was in their fours

When striking gold: yup, Henry Ford

There was another forty-man

You might know him: Abraham

McDonalds serves both me and you

Ray Kroc started at fifty two

Marketing is such an art

At forty-four: hello WalMart

We can’t forget the Colonel Sand

At sixty-five he played his hand

Charles Darwin was so nifty

He published Origins at fifty

So many more could I here name

I know you get it, it’s fickle: fame

I will not lie; feels good, you see

To know these things, at thirty-three

My Sacred Psalm

You want to know what stands between

The things they write, and what I mean?

Not one word have I wrote and thought

I hope this is something they bought

The words I write aren’t things to sell

They’re all just stories that I tell

Art is not a craft of number

Art is lightning, sometimes thunder

Don’t confuse these words of mine

With those who write to clock their time

I do not care for seed or sow

These pages are my mind’s chateau

They hold my thoughts and all my pleas

And bottle all my memories

If I pulled out this cork and screw

This world would not know what to do

Repent I must, this mind of mine

It torments me all of the time

Pause a moment, breathe, and calm

In this ink; my sacred psalm

Life’s True Journey

Calm yourself, come closer, near

For there’s a sound that I wish you to hear

Close your pretty eyes, love, and just try to listen in

Yes, I see you grinning to the tune of violin

Lay down the things around you

All the weight those shoulder’s bear

Step into my room, love

Shut out every single care

There is no world around us

Only you and me, tonight

And that’s how it will be, dear

Until the morning’s first daylight

Shed your inhibitions

There’s no cause for fright or fear

Relax, let go of life

Think of only what’s in here

Seize this window, as it calls

For life, it’s far too brief

It’s not about the race, you see

It’s love for every leaf

Know what truly matters, love

Put down the plate and knife

Take my hand and join me

Help me walk this path of life

Brothers in Arms

You ask me, why spend life so bottled in?

Why not go out, enjoy the world?

I’ll tell you love, here, come right in

But first let me untie what’s curled

Sometimes we want to get away

Forgetting what we saw

Others, they just prance and play

Not knowing how we’ll someday fall

What year did we decide was right?

What point as freedom calls?

There is no glory in this fight

But blood will paint it’s walls

There is a silence, among men

That doesn’t speak a word

Instead they stand there, brother, friend

And nothing can be heard

It’s out there, yes, it’s out there so

If we could only reconcile

Remember us, who fought, you know

Who walked with you, all of the while

Sincerely Signed

Listen, please. I must know how. I have so much to say right now. My mind is tearing me from Thou and begging me to disavow. Is this something I should allow? I need to know right here, and now. I’ve every reason not to fall yet here I stand before and bow.

Why won’t you sit and talk with me? Why won’t you show yourself to me? I question how this came to be and I need answers, desperately.

Nights are always worse than day. There is nowhere to get away. Trapped inside these shades of gray, tormented by the things I pray.

There is no stopping damage done. Not with a book, nor with a gun. Painful thoughts each way I look, and painful mem’ries, every one.

Don’t abandon me, my friend. I can’t go through this hurt again. Don’t tell me it’s not if, but when.

Sincerely signed, with heartbreak’s pen.

Fly Away

If you saw her true interior

Past the toughened, hard exterior

Saw the sadness and the fear in her

Youd’ve never said those things

Every day she stays devout

And keeps her calm as you just shout

Of things you know nothing about

Blinded by the hate it brings

Granted taken, you have done

Oblivious that she’s the one

Who raised your daughter, and your son

As you tied the same old strings

Never knowing why or how

So holier, she was than thou

Your every sin, she did allow

While treating you like lords and kings

Ignorance is bliss, they say

But one day she’ll leave you away

She’ll see that there’s no cause to stay

And fine’ly, grow her wings

My Words

My Words

You may be good with numbers, see

But words belong to those like me

My foundry melts the “b” and “e”

To craft the words which come to be

Every letter that I write is stamped with things I think at night

These books, these poems, the short stories

I write to put my mind at ease

Trapped inside myself, I am

Doing everything I can

Wed to words and ink and pen

Knowing it’s not if, but when

The day is coming, it’s ahead

I’ve followed every path she’s led

Chasing purpose, destiny

As she walks every step with me

There are no limits, the path won’t end

This road was paved by my best friend

No match ignites a brighter fire

For pain is life’s way to inspire

Look at me, look in my eyes

Know that I won’t compromise

No loose ends, each string I’ll tie

These hands will write until I die

No Strings Attached

If you saw her true interior

Looked through all the hard exterior

Saw the sadness, sincere fear in her

You’d never say those things

 

You’d see the stuff that she puts up with

While you tell her to plead the fifth

Though it’s true, and not just a myth

‘Twas you who locked her rings

 

Kept her hidden, and defiled

When she could have been beguiled

Even stealing her one child

To sell to other Kings

 

Life is leverage, to these riches

Just like cauldrons, to the witches

Ingredients come not with stiches

Though attached, are “noble” strings

You Are With Me, Everywhere

Happy birthday, Mom of mine

I think about you all the time

I won’t forget the things you did

When I was grown, nor as a kid

So much has happened since you left

When I laid crying, and bereft

I hope you hear the things I say

I talk to you Mom, every day

I tell you all the things I’ve done

To make you proud that I’m your son

Every single thing I do

Is done for one thing, which is you

I want to see you, talk again

I miss my closest, dearest friend

I love you Mom, and miss you so

I hold your heart, and won’t let go

Is It Her Or Is It Me?

I know I’m diff’rent, I’m weird alright?

But you don’t seem to mind tonight

Just relax and listen to

The things, this eve, we’re gonna do

I’ll pick you up at half past six

Your hairs so fine the way it’s fixed

Then to dinner we shall ride, music low, you by my side

Valet parking, toss the keys

You don that blouse so elegantly

Tables waiting, just for two, my every thought consumed by you

Drinks are served, this smooth rosé

‘Tis better than their Chardonnay

Pour a glass for you and me, she looks so lovely, doesn’t she?

Skin so soft, like caramel

Where are we now? It’s hard to tell

All that I can think is her, my every other thoughts a blur

Then the server brings dessert

Sweet as her legs are in that skirt

Hands are helpless, wandering

As my mind is pondering

In the car, our date concludes

She says she needs help with her shoes

All these strings are tied about, come untie them, help me out

With a grin I do oblige

Holding hands, walking inside

Spend the evening intertwined, with this girl who’s owned my mind

Stroke her hair as sun arises

My hearts not used to surprises

But I can’t ignore chemistry, is it her? Or is it me?

Facts Are Few

Facts are few, but they just may

Be everything we talk today

Your word. His word. Her word. Theirs.

No one seems to understand the realness of current affairs

Logic is illogical when numbers mean nothing no more

All that matters is the playbook that they carry to the floor

It’s funny, right? Cause here, tonight

We’ll sit here as these drinks we pour

Watching wasteful Washington while they decide what to explore

Get it I don’t, but the message is clear

The hatred’s infectious, one direction to steer

I don’t know why they won’t let the guy just finish things he sought to do

The parchment that defined our world was written for us, me and you

I pray that some day we’ll acknowledge all the things we came here for

Living life how we’re supposed to without all the need for war

I digress, it’s hope I guess, that’s what we want in our core

But sadly battles, still un-rattled, seem to bloody this white floor

Cooperation

Are you real? No, are you real?

Are you the things you say you feel?

Are you the things you talk about

Or are you just another spout

Fountains flowing, they look nice, but if you shook and rolled the dice, would you be the same person if I looked once when I looked twice? Faking life yeah, it’s a vice, but let me give you some advice. Take all of these personalities and make them more concise.

No one likes to look at something they can’t make an image of. Don’t portray the things we play, just wear what fits you like a glove. If you do they’ll know you’re true and you won’t have to act above. Life is so much easier when push does not become a shove.

Words are wisdom, yes it’s true

So how does it apply to you?

I’m despising advertising, such a wicked game they play. Thinking they control the minds of people that they sell today. Money talks, we know it walks, but there’s so much else to convey. If we understood what matters they’d be worthless with no pay.

Power is given, it never is earned

Powers provided by people unlearned

You are the confidant, you are the doubt

You are the one they’re all talking about

You hold their outcome, their relevance too

They’re only significant because of you

Take back your power, take back your fight

Take back the things that you know are what’s right

Nothings accomplished with one idle hand

So come, join together, we can all make a stand

My Snoring Lot

I know I had a chance to rise when that old man, a sign he brought

Me and Maw had read it and a job it had, it asked a lot

“Welcome to the World”, it said, “We need to build this fort we drawt”

“And any man who builds it will rise socially, he’ll know he got”

 

I turned to my good men, my dogs, four legs they had to give to them

They looked at me and said “We’re free! Let’s start this fort, we’ll make a gem.”

I watched as canines took four paws, hoarding hounds did not condemn

The questions I asked after did not seem to bother one of them

 

Why did you not continue to do all the things you said you’d do?

Seems like you just got the gig, then forgot the whole thing through

“We got the job, then saw a log, a thing that we could chomp and chew”

“So we decided, then to do, the things we always wanted to”

 

“We slept, we ran, we chased, we played”

“We leapt, we laughed, we snored, we stayed”

“We did the stuff we like in life”

“As you sat there holding your knife”

 

“All you people seem to do is ruin things you like a lot”

 Then a dog looked up at me and said “that’s all the points I’ve got”

I turned and looked at snoozing dogs, for that’s all they seem to have thought

It seems that I have raised a snoozing, lazy four-legged Snoring Lot

Truth Lies

So often we ask why they don’t heed our word

How all of the things we say can go unheard

The reason is simple, if you’ll let me speak

I’ll tell you the reason why your words are weak

The manner in which you deliver your thought

Is just as important as points that you brought

It will never matter, for humans are we

We hear what we want and your words must be free

Free of contempt, accusation, and “you”

The “you” that you want to prove your point is true

For it will not matter if deeds have been done

If you argue that way then you’ve lost ‘fore begun

I get it, I do, but see matter, it won’t

We all do these things that we say that we don’t

So next time you want to convince that you’re true

Just know it won’t work, and that truth lies in you

Behind These Eyes

Write it down, what it may be. Just tell me what you want from me. I gave my heart, I give my soul. So why am I left with this hole?

Is this what I have fought and earned, or is it that I haven’t learned? Is this nightmare what I dreamed, this love that’s not how it all seemed?

My eyes, they’re clouded by these veils. I ask, were they just fairy tales? Stories written just to keep the tears from falling as we weep

I wish that I could just believe that love is there within my reach. So why do I continue to keep asking Him what I should do?

There’s sadness in these eyes of mine. I ask, so often, for a sign. A thing that I can hold at last – to look ahead, not at the past

I know she’d say, my mother, Liz, “She’s out there son, I know she is. She might be half a world away, or maybe you know her today.”

I cannot play this modern game, to find someone and share a name. I long for love I know won’t end. I long for love…my one true friend.

Diary of a Philosopher: 1

The future is funny, don’t you think?

Not in a literal sense, I mean. I’m just saying that in general. After all, no one really knows what’s going to happen before it happens, right? Sure, we can try and predict things…but after it’s all said and done, it will always be fate who decides how the cookie crumbles. All we can do is try and convince the cookie that it should crumble the way we want it to.

“Control the controllable,” that’s what Gram used to say.

Oh, Gram. How dearly do I envy the world you lived in. A time before all this hustle and bustle. When all that folks cared about was whether or not the family they were raising had enough grain for the season and if the sow in the barn was ripe for eatin’, having tended to its old life’s last litter. The stories you tell make my mind wander every which way, wondering if I’ll ever get to live in a world like that.

It’s kind of disheartening, you know? To spend almost every waking moment trying to figure out what bills have been paid and which ones haven’t, and whether or not I’m going to have some collector call me about something I forgot to pay fifteen thousand years ago. I exaggerate, of course, but I know you know what I mean.

I just wish we could redo it all. Start from the ground up, no? Craft a world where people actually care about stuff they should care about, rather than all this mumbo jumbo we’ve been trained to value. It’s sad, really. It’s like we somehow just let the bad guys win, watching our kids and peers from the sidelines as they’re taught that the type of logo on someone’s shirt somehow determines the quality of person they are. I just don’t get how we made it here. And I even more don’t get how it happened right in front of our eyes, but somehow still managed to become the commonly accepted way of conducting oneself. Why do we constantly judge each other based upon these things? Ugh. I digress.

But it makes me wonder…does it even matter who we are? Good or bad, I mean. Because I won’t lie to you, trusted journal…it definitely seems like no one really cares what type of person you are, as long as you have the ability to give people stuff that they otherwise wouldn’t be able to acquire.

So what is it? What actually is the meaning that we all desperately search for? Are we all just supposed to fall in line, accepting the fact that a persons monetary value is directly correlated with their intrinsic value?

Personally, I want to say no. But sometimes this world makes me think otherwise.

Sometimes, I’ll lay down on my back porch, just looking at the stars. I used to try and count them, but I eventually realized that it didn’t matter how many of them there were. All that matters is that they’re up there, looking back down at me, and that someone, somewhere, is probably asking themselves that same question. You know…in some kind of alien language.

What makes a person a “good” person?

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Aren’t we supposed to try and figure this stuff out? Or are we supposed to just skirt by in life, blissfully ignorant to the grander question of what defines us?

I don’t know. Really…I don’t. Maybe there’s no right answer to that, and that this finite life should just be appreciated for what it is. Perhaps the irony is in worrying about it, because all it does is (most likely) shorten our time here.

Stress is a real problem, indeed.

Communicate

Ravens speak darkness while Frost speaks of snow

But tormented minds share a likeness, you know

Rather than rhythm repeating tempo

I’ll ink what I think as the rules I let go

Words are not wisdom they’re just thoughts that we think

And letters are naught but concepts that you shrink

Shrink into something that conveys a wink

Or some other thing that makes minds start to sync

Language, invented, is a thing that as we

Have all come together and seem to agree

That “this” can mean “that” and that “him” can mean “he”

Or “she” could mean “you” and the person you’ll be

All that we know was created by one

One single person who first said “I’m done”

Done with the guessing, who said “It’s begun,

Beginning today, ‘tis where we are from”

Their tribe founded reason, and logic, indeed

From then to forever, these words we now heed

And so twas’ the birth of this language we read

To finally find all these words that we need

If letters and numbers, or words din’t exist

Then chaos would still reign so high in our midst

Alas, we can speak now, our lips have been kissed

If not for this language, our thoughts would be missed

Darkness

In darkness these thoughts have made into their place

They’ve stolen my mind and hold it in embrace

After the curtains fall there’s a new face

That torments and consumes my every thoughts’ space

This strength is a weakness, it follows me so

It’s grip only tightens when asked to let go

Constantly clawing, as if my shadow

And nothing I do can restrain it, I know

So sorely I long to be rid of my fate

For the burdens I bear seem to be far too much weight

Twisting and turning, I wish they’d stay straight

For solace I’m searching, for calm I await

In darkness these thoughts have made into their place

And there’s nothing to stop it from starting to race

Stop. I sincerely want one day of grace

Stop. There’s only so much I can face

For Better or Worse

Sitting in solitude, lonely, I know

Glancing and gazing out of this window

I wish that the hands of this clock would move slow

But everyone seems to have somewhere to go

Why must every journey turn into a race

Why do we seem always have something to chase

Spending life sprinting and quickening the pace

When we could instead make the most of our place

Donning these things that we don’t even need

So we can catch up, get ourselves up to speed

Is it all vanity, is it all greed

Or is it the way we’ve been taught to succeed

Think of your values, what things do you want

Are they sincere or just things you can flaunt

Words are all words, no matter the font

Their meanings don’t change be you poor, debutante