Ripples

Ripples, I see down below

The waves are moving, soft and slow

Like zephyrs, gently drifting through

The water’s stillness calms and soothes

I cast a rock into its deeps

Watch it sink as this willow weeps

I see the first bright evening star

Across the lake, the trees afar

The coast adorns a bright green coat

It’s shadow cloaks a lonely boat

My friend, on four, barks on a whim

As children there, begin to swim

A sigh escapes, the calmest breath

There’s so much life to live ‘fore death

And as I stand, to pack my things

I thank this world, for all it brings

Scars

They’re carried each and every day, they never ever go away. I cannot seem to find a place where minds are clear and thoughts erased. They stay with me, they’re always there, it seems a saddened love affair. My heart is blackened when the air begins to flow with fervent prayer. The things I’ve done, the things I’ve not, they occupy my every thought. The questions that I ask myself are known to me; and no one else. The answers lie in of itself, or maybe on my dark bookshelf. Our past, it haunts, it makes us see, that which we often disagree. For truth is that, and nothing else. It doesn’t care for time, or self. It shines its light, and nothing more. It opens every locked, closed door. Yet when we see the things we’ve done, we often want to turn and run. Such deeds exist, there in your past, and if you let them ever-last, your further will be chained and cast to those who judge and those who blast.

Let your scars, while they remain, fade away into the plain. You’ll always have them, they’ll maintain, but use them for your growth and gain. Learn their passage, learn their plight, and if you ever have to fight, your scars will tell you what to do; if it’s wrong, or if it’s true. Some see them as the wounds of life, but I prefer to use them like a knife. Every time I’m broken, down; my scars remind me that I’ve found. I’ve always found that this will pass, and every time, it always has.

Love can be the best of things, but think before you exchange rings. Be certain that they are the one, that love and bond won’t come undone. Take a look back at your past. Make sure this time that it will last.

And if you doubt things, look to the stars. Then, look back, at all your scars.

Hide & Seek

Sweaty brow, aching back, home packed lunch and the sleepless nights

That’s how things were done when people worked, reaching up for higher heights

Dirt and grit, skin and bone, not a moment thrown into the waste

Men would own up to the challenge, no obstacle they wouldn’t face

Things got done, cities built, on the shoulders of their work

They didn’t need a safe space, they built these things from grit and dirt

Now, today, we watch as our children have their feelings hurt

Instead of saying “toughen up”, we tell them “get revenge and throw some dirt”

Paint the people disagreeing as bigots and misogynists

As they yell and cry aloud, raising pickets and their fists

Its sad to me, watching as we become so weak

Many years from now, the stronger will destroy the meek

Its not immoral, its not unjust, to teach your children to be strong

Look out at this harsh, cruel world and tell me that you know I’m wrong

And if you do, then friend, this is the only thing I’ll say to you

I hope you taught them hide and seek, cause hiding’s all they’ll know to do

What Are You Waiting For?

All the things out there you see, they’re shining, glistening, calling thee. Why wait? Its there, right in front of you, all that needs to happen is for you to stand and do. Do, don’t wait, don’t put it off, you get one life and time, it costs. Please don’t let yours go to waste, dream your dream with utmost haste, chase it till your legs are through, and when they’re gone your arms will do. Make it there, no matter what, don’t give in and don’t say “but”, this life is yours and only yours, I tell you as I’m on all fours. I beg that people understand that life is not some fairy land, its filled with things we need to do and if undone, then it’s on you.

So simple things can really be when eyes are open and you see, take a glance over the sea and wake up to reality. All the things you dreamt you’d be don’t have to fade into the breeze, you can make these dreams come true if only you believed in you. That’s all it takes, I speak the truth, so much is wasted in our youth, if only we could comprehend that time is not a thing to lend, it never stops taking its toll and always ends up with our soul.

I ask you, what is it that you’re waiting for? Someone else to open the door? Listen, friend, please listen close. Absorb these words before your ghost. Your time here is not infinite. We don’t know what happens when we quit. Some say God and some say not, but either way we’ve got one shot. One chance to do the things we dream, one chance to love both you and me. Take this chance and never stop. Take it to the mountaintop. Take it to the ends of Earth, and give a reason to your birth.

Throughout your life, find every door. Fill your heart, then fill it more. And when you find something to love, ask yourself: what is it that I’m waiting for?

The Bath of the Birds

I sit here in silence, observing the fray

They jump and they fly and they chirp and they play

No notion of others, surroundings are clear

They have no concern for the things that are near

A troupe, all together, just having some fun

Enjoying themselves now that rainfall has come

A friendship? A family? Their dynamic unknown

I’m certain of only one thing that they’ve shown

Simplicity flies in this unit of four

No worries, no stress, no rich and no poor

Their life is just that, a puddle to play

A place to post up and put worries away

And as I observe, these birds look around

They hop and they leap and leave marks on the ground

I can tell that they’re happy, such joy do they feel

As they chirp and they play, I can see it’s so real

They love one another, there’s no question of that

I can tell just by watching, it’s a sobering fact

I can’t help but wonder, as I see these birds play

Why humans can’t see things this simple today

This life wasn’t forged for such fury and fear

We were meant to be loved, all my friends, it’s so clear

Today, make a promise, I beg for your words

Reflect this world’s beauty, like this bath of the birds

Coping Mechanisms

How often do I lift my eyes, shake my head, sigh and realize that its all a pit of lows and occasional highs, an endless board that’s gamed by the wise. The ones who see it, so full of their lies, often sit back and laugh at the pitiful cries. The cries of the pure who don’t don the disguise, fooled by a dusk masked as delusional sunrise. The mask which covers a world we so strongly despise. We believe that the ship won’t inevitably capsize, and pretend not to grasp what our behavior implies; that despite our attempts to understand and surmise, we’re just animals that honestly, Earth should ostracize. No better than the beasts we pretentiously analyze, convincing ourselves that we’re so civilized despite the unparalleled evil we all authorize through the so-called society we’ve created which serves to patronize.

Yes, I suppose it is better to follow the rule, for if we woke up we’d all feel like a fool. Its easy to walk on the straight path to school, to do what they say like the oxen and mule, to keep the wheel turning as the Engine of Civilization uses us as its fuel. We go with the flow to avoid ridicule, distracted from truth by an empty, false jewel.

I question the things I’m told to believe. I refuse to be ignorant, fake, or naïve. I’m guided by reality, not by things we conceive; not money, not fame, not things that deceive. The Tunic of Truth is the clothing I weave; respect forms its fabric and love hems its sleeve. I have no concern for false things we perceive, instead I look forward at the goals I’ll achieve.

Silently sitting, stillness in scope, I gaze at this road with a semblance of hope. So many around see the slippery slope, and join the campaign, hold these reigns made of rope. This rope isn’t normal, it holds divine horoscope; it represents action to those who sit back and cope.

Alone

So many things in life I see, they’re happening all around me. The love, the kids, the joy I see; they sooth my heart and set me free. The warmth I feel when I emcee is cherished oh so fervently, and even when they disagree I only smile, lovingly. Under this Umbrella Tree sits my past and my own memory, and as I watch the fun and glee I can’t help but to think of me. The child that I used to be, when in all the world, importantly, the only thing that mattered was how to climb that big, tall tree.

So quickly do we rush to grow. I need not say it, for you all know. This life that He thought to bestow flies by so fast like that photo taken by the best of show that all the others want to know. They need to know because they lie, as they get mighty and so high, and as the time comes when they die, they suddenly now say goodbye.

Remember me for all my deeds, the feigned actions and false decrees, for all that flows in this here breeze is reputation; legacies. The things I did when I was young, they matter not; they’re all unstrung. That song I sang, I never sung; I hung it on this lying rung. No lies escape misleading tongue, just look upon us, who among? Who among us can be tried? Who knows, who’s now identified? If logic, here, shall be applied then think and please come to decide that all who feign, and all who lied will one day cleanse and purify.

And now I sit here, though unknown, looking down at pad and phone. I think of all the time that’s flown, the love I’ve lost and past I own. I am no King that holds a throne, I am no skeleton or bone, I’m only who I’ve always known, the same thread that my life has sewn, what once was hidden, now is shown. The man I am was forged in stone, my spirit; glass that She had blown, awaiting this new brighter tone, I cherish that I’m all…alone.

The Forge

Silence sits so still inside, supplying souls so simplified, the subjects seem to mystify the saints that I’ve since satisfied.  Now that I have shed my pride I ask if doors now open wide, and though the answer is implied I fear its fake; that they all lied. There’s no direction, there’s no guide that steers this ship, and though I’ve tried to weather storms that won’t subside I’ve got no compass to abide. My sails are tight, yes, they’ve been tied and readied for the Great Divide and as I start this fabled ride there is no other at my side.

I’m at my post, all alone, and though I know that now I’ve grown the doubt still tries to fight, dethrone; yet I persevere and hold my own. The chains that held me I’ve outgrown, that which haunts me, the past I own, I’ve shed – forgotten, now unknown as I reach this stepping stone.

This foot forward is my first, my introduction to this thirst. This step I take, it might be cursed, and if it is then do your worst. I fear no devil, nor decree; no God or unknown deity, the tides are calm on this here sea, Poseidon shares my fraught decree.

I live my life on my own term. I don’t need someone to affirm the fact that I will always do that which causes thoughts anew for when we start to ask them “Why?’ The world will change; ideas can’t die.

Ideas can’t die, they’re just a thought, it sadly seems we’ve all forgot, we’re so caught up in right or wrong that every tune’s the same old song. Pass the blame on someone else, when our conscience says there’s no one else, no one other than our self, rugs are swept and acts are shelved.

Why is it that our world’s so fake? The ones who say they are awake just seem to point out each mistake yet nothing’s done to mend the break. Corrupted chaos is still here, and when we claim its disappeared another talking head we hear; controlled by the same puppeteer. Its this that’s caused this buccaneer to use the weapon of Shakespeare and fight a war that endears the values of the common ear.

What weapon is this, you may ask? Words I fill in this here flask. I carry them with every mask, uncorking them when I am tasked with questions that I can’t explain, when people try to pick my brain, they realize that they’ve tried in vain, for even I can’t hold the reign, even I can’t seem to gain an adequate way to paint my pain. But sure, I’ll try facades and feign, acting like I can abstain from all the things on this world’s train, as I launch this sole campaign.

No other sees these sights I see, no other sits so silently, no other has the patience, see, for this old world is just debris. Its fodder for the filth that’s free and feigns the feelings I foresee, so for the faithful  pray and plea, here’s your rusty lock and key.

Your teachings, here, I disagree. I forge this future for those like me.

My Biography

Alone in darkness, thoughts embark, and though this page displays my mark, nameless I shall now remain as embers’ heat begin to wane.

Uncertainty is close behind, forever shrouding this dark mind. I fear I may have intertwined the light that shines so bright behind the madness in this room upstairs with other shapes; those unfit squares. These pieces, see, they don’t belong, yet when I try to right the wrong I’m greeted by the same old song who’s tune just drags me right along, its lyrics say to “just stay strong”.

This is my life, these things you read, I’ve told the world that I concede. I give my every waking breath to live without the fear of death and make each day the best I can, to help and heal my fellow man, to be the one who gives their life to try and pull the piercing knife that penetrates hearts of men, that dagger of our constant sin.

The judgement that so rules this land, I cast away, its purpose banned. All it serves, its only stand, is harm or hurt, please understand.

Every second, every day I chase a dream that’s far away but every single moment spent I’ve sacrificed for my ascent. Its all been planned, accounted for, and let me guess; by thirty-four I’ll look back as those toasts are poured for changing locks to open doors. These poems I write, they aren’t for me, they aren’t to show the world I’m free; they’re nothing more than thoughts and things I’d write in my own diary. There is one thing that’s different, see, between the world and folks like me; that every single thing we think is shared for all the world for free. Our thoughts and all our passions flow, just like the light through this window, and when the doubt begins to grow we cut them down, like throwing salt on frosted snow.

So many say they write in vain, but please allow me to explain that none who know the strife and strain will know until they feel grit or grain. I’m cheating on my healing; I want to stop the hurt that’s seeps through every vein and yet I can’t stop sleeping with my pain. Pain of memories lost, that now I know I’ll never gain, acts that now I must abstain, and things from which I force refrain.

Now’s the time to stock the ship as unknown warriors crack their whip. The time is now for fellowship, so load the gun and soothe the grip, and forge unlikely partnerships for once its out you can’t acquit. This room has now grown pale, moonlit, and all the thoughts that I transmit are meant to peel the fake from real, to call out what is counterfeit.

And as I end this plead and plea, I’ll pilfer from philosophy the bits and pieces I agree and cast away the false debris. The lesson that we all should see is that we’re of the same old tree whose branches bare uniqueness, yes, but become the same as we undress. While we’re different, nonetheless, there are qualities we all possess: the need to love, the need to feel, the need to shape our own ideal, these are things that we all need, a hunger which we need to feed. We’re all connected, its true you see, regardless of geography, no mind for color, biology, we all are here and share this tree. If one thing I can leave for me, the purpose for my reality, it’s to show the world community.

This, nothing more, is what I want in my biography.

My Diary

My Diary

I lay in this bed with these thoughts in my head, looking at the blood that I bled when these pieces of my heart were all shred. These nights tear me apart, make me wish I could go back and restart the life that I’ve led so I can sew together the dangling thread hanging over me. It taunts me, like that bold message you dread that you want to ignore but know eventually has to get read. And I try so hard to think of the good things instead but this pain is so widespread and it’s grip on my head is so tight that I can’t even slip the slightest semblance of solace into this locked shed that’s trapped my mind inside.

I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve cried and I’ve cried and all the pride that’s implied on the outside can’t seem to hide the truth I’m forced to confide; that I’ve died on the inside. Each time I try to divide the sad thoughts that reside together in my head they just get amplified; magnified in frustration that I dared try to hide them. They collide like atoms in my mind and become multiplied until the whole space becomes occupied by nothing but unidentified questions and desires that I know won’t ever get satisfied.

My mind longs for either peaceful rest, or cyanide.

I can’t help that I view life through such a jaded, clouded lens. A timeline of careers and diverse group of friends, asking myself the whole time when will it end? When will I feel it and at last comprehend my purpose? When will I transcend this pretend realm and extend my everything to the place I so long to attend? These thoughts course through me as I desperately grasp for a Godsend to befriend and depend on to help me ascend to the realm where I know I belong.

Because that day isn’t far. Its not far from tonight, it’s not far from tomorrow, and I know this. I know this because there’s so much fuel in this car, each shelf stocked in this bar, so much pure light in this star that’s waiting to supernova.

But I guess right now I’m supposed to act like I’m nothing and won’t ever be something, because that’s what people want to see. They don’t want to think that the people they feed are destined to overcome and succeed, growing bigger than them because it causes a stampede of lost causes while it impedes on their dreams – but hey.

It really isn’t fair to hate on someone just because they have bigger dreams than you.

But that won’t stop them, will it? No, they’ll still hate the success and your name in the press as they cuss and confess that they knew you’d progress into whatever it is you’ve become. And while they look in the mirror and hate that you’ve made it, they’ll try to bring you back down to their playing ground to make themselves feel like they’ve crowned a win while instead they just drown in their toxic waste that surrounds.

People confound me.

But this last verse, no more ire as I light a bright fire and tell all of you reading that I never will tire from doing what’s right as I fight and aspire to always reach higher on this quest to acquire through blood or gunfire the just world we deserve.

That’s the long answer to the frequent inquiry.

These are just thoughts…that I write in my diary.

Writing, as it Relates to Me

I want to share something with you.

I want to share my perception of the thing that saved me from the dark halls through which, until recently, I was being forced to traverse. See, for the longest time I felt as if I’d been carrying a curse, as I walked through things as mundane as the local mall I’d occasionally pass a mother and child and, with something as simple as a short glance at a purse, I’d need a moment to sit down and stare at the ground  and just get lost in thought as my eyes locked in on my shoes seeing the eight little letters that make up the word “converse”. And as in thought, I was immersed, I’d notice the Mom and child fade away from my peripheral vision as the scene in my head was dispersed as instead I looked up and recognized how diverse this whole room was. Something which made me wonder why, despite my attempts to be rid of my curse, was my focus still so combative and stubbornly perverse? Why had my eyes, as if by some magnetism, drifted toward this mother and child, as images of the nurse from the fourth floor of the ICU and of the hearse I never wanted to follow behind began darting through my brain as if I’m now being coerced into this seat where I could at last allow my burdening thoughts to intersperse?

Yes, I would like to share my perception of this most wonderful of creations.

I wish there was a more intimate way to share these times where I just, simply, sit down. Times, whether it’s on the ground at the dog park, or in a seat on a patio bar downtown, or a high table at Jonathan’s, where I can usually be found after a long day of work as I diligently add to my writing background. I wish there was a way for more people to be around when these beautiful moments, which are so rarely found, sweep over us as the most profound thoughts come at us; endlessly inbound as we take the simple and start to expound. It is these moments that instill awe and confound, metaphorically providing the sensation of living a whole life afflicted by deafness as we now, at last, hear our very first sound.

Its something that I wish we all would do more often.

And by that, I mean share. Because the life that I lived before words were my ware was one for which, now, I just really don’t care. I was shallow, I was selfish, I was fake and unfair, and I now, here in hindsight, even hate my old hair. See, there’s one thing I promise; I emphatically swear. So much weight can be lifted, when you open and share. And while yes, the things I write are written with intentional flair, this sentiment I’m typing is as real as a prayer. Get the weight off of your shoulders, and you no longer care for stares, as everyone around you knows precisely the wonderfully flawed thing that so courageously stands there. There are no more secrets, no more lies, no more burdens that you bare, and the only thing you’re donned with is that gown of truth that you wear.

Its like that feeling you get when you’ve been walking through a scorching hot zoo all day long and everyone’s been like “let’s look at this, and this, and that, and this,” when all you really want is a freaking sip of water as you finally finish walking through the African safari exhibit and at last arrive at the centrally located walkway of mist, which leads into the food court and you now can finally order the largest water of your life.

In other words, you feel refreshed.

And that’s the feeling I want to share, which I mentioned before. I don’t think its necessary to explain what I was like before I began to write because not only was I a bore, but I’ve actually already covered it so instead let’s look forward and consider the things that the future has in store. Because the one thing I want to make abundantly clear, as my depressingly sad thoughts turn to into long awaited cheer, is that the very thing I’m doing has quite literally saved my life from what would have undoubtedly veered in the worst direction I could steer had I not, through my tears, come to the realization that I feared which I had been so afraid was awaiting, unavoidably near. So yes, I should pay homage to that which put my life back in gear and that is this: writing.

Words. Words have saved me.

Words have saved me, you see, because despite all the pain and the malice which have coursed through me for so long, a certain sense of liberty has manifested recently that, honestly, I can’t explain as I sit here with her picture, with my dog, and with my thoughts; which, inexplicably, seem to finally be set free. And while I don’t fully understand why my brain has allowed me to take this unfamiliar, seemingly carefree approach as of late, I don’t want to do anything that might cause it to flee, because it’s a sensation for which I’ve been waiting every hour, every week; a feeling that could be described as the long-awaited blossoming of green leaves which at last expose themselves after patiently waiting through a brutal winter that for so long tormented their sad, barren tree.

I want this feeling to last forever.

Yet I know that this, sadly, is an impossibility. But that won’t keep me from constantly, aggressively grasping my life as I force it forward; as I refuse to let anything slow my pace. There is not a thing in this world that will keep me from storming the castle that I see before me. No, I will recruit each and every fiber within me, arming with fire whatever soldiers I need to ascertain that I have an adequately sized force and undefeatable army through which I can destroy with impunity anything that dares stand in defiance of me and the alliance that I have created which now stands beside me.

Arm me with words, and I will destroy anything that gets in my way.

Because words, you see, are the infinite expanse on which we can set sail; for they make up this deep, endless sea of possibility that, in all actuality, contains the only vessel that boasts the capability and the necessary degree of sheer diversity upon which I can pen things such as Continuity, or my poetry, or anything else that I might hear or see that I think needs to be recorded, holding full culpability for the thoughts that I think, the sounds that I hear, or the sights that I see. It is only through words that I can fully express myself.

And that, my friends, is writing; as it relates to me.

Make Drinks, Not Promises

You want to hear something funny that happened to me today? I hope you don’t say no, since I’m on the patio of my local town saloon, roughly six hours past high noon, aimlessly thinking as I stare up at the moon and writing these very words that I now recite for you. So if I may, I shall politely presume that your answer is yes. And if it isn’t…well, I apologize because at the moment it’s the only tune that’s playing. So please respect this small commune as we share our feels in this cozy little room, collectively wrapping our individual feelings together like an awkwardly intimate heart and soul cocoon.
Glad that’s out of the way.
Back to today. I think most of you know that several years ago I was dealt a blow of immeasurable magnitude, causing me to throw an entire career to the road as I diverted my entire existence toward destroying as much hate and woe as I possibly could. I did this as I was gripped by an influence that the mother I lost would always bestow with a hold so tight that, unequivocally, I know will never lighten up or come even remotely close to ever letting go.
So yeah.
I think as far as that whole part of the story, I can digress. Because if you read literally anything else I’ve written, it won’t take long to learn more than you probably want to know about her, the impact her death had on me, and how confusingly, oxy-moronically, luminously dark I’ve become as a result.
But you see, I had no other choice but to tee this part of the read up by sharing, at the very least, a brief, abbreviated version of the history which led to this very moment. Now, I commit (admittedly with glee) that for the remainder of this poem, I will agree that you have no cause to fret, as you are all now set free; relieved from the pain which I’m fully aware that I far too often share through sad recounts and melancholy pleas.
Don’t say I never did anything for you.
But seriously…I wish I could articulate the enormous degree of sheer appreciation that I should more often decree for each and every beautiful person who’s taken the time to read the things that I’ve written. I don’t say this enough, but the sensation one experiences when they’re told that someone relates to their writing, or that their work resonates is so powerful it can bring one to their knees. So let me express my gratitude. No pain tonight. Fair?
Man. I should do this more often.
So today I was caught in typical deep thought about pretty much everything I just brought to attention with my aforementioned words which, for you, have carefully been brought. I realized, looking at all the past things that I’ve jot, that the vast majority of themes which I spot are plagued and distraught by the same sad and depressingly dark plot. A realization which, amidst my reflection, suddenly struck me with a thought. A thought (I’ve now since been taught) that I’ve subconsciously sought since that most impacting of days; when the straight life I was used to was tied into a most impossible knot.
For the first time in thirty months, eighteen days, and roughly two hours and forty-seven minutes…I felt relief.
To be honest, I have no idea whatsoever that caused this spark which had finally caused my consistently low mood start to climb, or why it happened to occur at this particular time, or what forces were working to make it so abruptly ignite; liberating my mind from its pitch black paradigm. The only thing I can be sure of is that I was compelled to adjust the tones of this metaphorical rhyme that has incessantly been my life since she the day that I lost her; the day that she died.
It was one of those fabled, fleeting moments in life that we dream of; a moment that most spend time wondering if they actually exist or whether our culture deceitfully represents them through fiction to keep us from succumbing to the harsh reality that, sadly, most are forced to share. I would almost go as far as to say that this moment was “indescribable”. Although I won’t go quite that far. No, I know better than that.
Want to know why?
Because “indescribable” is a fucking oxy-moron, that’s why. Like, who the hell allowed it to even become an actual word? Webster? Who even is Webster? He sounds like a huge bitch, to be honest. I mean come on. One cannot claim an inability to describe something while simultaneously using the very word asserting their claim to describe it. Like what the fuck, you guys?
Whatever.
So, here we are. Finally released from the negativity which for so long I’ve been scarred. Oh, and by the way, I know at the start I said I was sky-gazing on a patio, but I’ve since moved to the inside corner of an adjacent bar. See, I really enjoy posting up from afar, observing the people as I smoke a cigar, on occasion intentionally making awkward eye contact with folks as if their eyes were that very same star from stanza one. Well technically, I should have said moon, because that’s what I said I was looking at earlier in this poem; but moon doesn’t rhyme with cigar. So for anyone that may have picked up on that hopefully subtle difference; please, be silent. Like the lamb.
Or I will feed your inanimate corpse to those creepy Hannibal pigs after providing my inordinately sophisticated dog Mr. Baxter a once-in-a-lifetime feast of your human brains. Brains, obviously, which lacked any semblance of intelligence; a candid truth made obvious by the simple fact that their recently deceased owner failed to abide by a very simple instruction.
So yeah. If you picked up on that…shh.
As I continue writing with this long-awaited perspective that now abounds, I suppose its high time we arrive at the underlying theme which (for these 1,031 words) could be found lurking about these pages in a sort of subtle, poetic background. A point I’ve been waiting to make that for this entire time has been handcuffed; its wrists tightly bound in anticipation of the most profound moment to come around and confound, astound, and surround each and every person who experiences this prose with a most relatable, common ground.
By the way, there are a shit ton of words that rhyme with ground. Like Italian greyhound, burial mound, merry-go-round, circle around, and etcetera. Well not that last one but you get my point. Wait. Circle around. As in, let me now circle around back to the point I was just making before this particular stanza of rhyme distracted me from the message I’ve been waiting to expound. A message that, despite how long it’s taken to arrive, is actually quite simple.
Drinks.
Yes, you heard me right. Drinks. And I’m going to refrain from guessing whether or not that is making any sense whatsoever at the moment. It probably shouldn’t, because a word such as “drinks” doesn’t even loosely relate to anything I’ve mentioned so far. So technically, if you found some kind of connection between the two, you either don’t understand what words mean on a fundamental level, or you’re some kind of savant that can read between the lines so deeply its scary. In fact, now that I say that, if its the latter – please keep it to yourself. Because that would kind of creep me out.
So yes, back to my message: drinks. The reason I thought of that particular word as it applies to the motif I could relay with this 0.7 Pilot G2 filled with black ink was this: its time I end my tendency to over analyze and overthink. Its time that all of the black that I’m used to turns into something vibrant, like pink. Ok, maybe not pink. Pink reminds me of this traumatizing moment I had in 5th grade at the old skating rink. And no, I will not elaborate. The point is, I’m tired of all the promises I feel pressured to keep. Not the ones I’ve made in regard to my life and what I intend to do with it. No, those promises define me; they’re the sole influence that keeps my values and actions in sync. The promises I refer to, ones of which I now announce I’ve severed the link, are the ones made to society. The ones which serve only to degrade my self-perception, sadistically watching my dwindling confidence as it plummets and sinks with an expressionless smile and emotionless wink.
And that, my friends, brings us to the one point in this poem where I very clearly explain what I mean with all of this disorganized, scattered banter.
There is one thing I realized today as I took a hard look at life. A thing that almost always rings true. A thing which, I imagine, applies to us all. From the tallest of tall to the smallest of small. From the one’s sleeping in gutters to those waltzing at balls. From the center stage dancer to flowers on the wall. The philosophical pacifist to the meathead who brawls. That goofy croquet club to Tom Brady’s football. From the Qui Gon of Jinns to the Darthest of Mauls.
I realized, quite simply, that drinking alcohol from a crisp, cold flagon is SO much more fun than being lame and pondering existentialism.
Anticlimactic?
Well, I hate to say this since its so out of character…but too bad. Because that’s the earth-shattering, refreshingly shallow reality that I discovered this evening as I gazed so deeply into the moon. Or star. Whichever the fuck it was. So I’m going to make one final, meaningful statement. A statement of which I hope I can maintain an intimate awareness of for the remainder of my years on this Earth.
And despite the whimsical tone that’s accompanied this piece so far, you should probably take the following statement to heart. So please…I respectfully ask that you remember these words, for they’re spoken genuinely from the most doubting of Thomas’s.
Always make the strongest of drinks. For drinks are indescribably more fun than life’s impossible promises.

The Tour

Psst, hey you! Come here, my friend

To you, my hand, I shall extend

Don’t be shy, come quietly

This is for you, just follow me

 

A tour this is, with me, your guide

So let us gently step inside

Now take a seat, get strapped right in

Prepare the mind to twirl and spin

 

First stop, its here, a bright red light

We look around, no soul in sight

And so we drive, but wait! Just stop

A ticket written from this cop?

 

“You ran a red light.” So, my friend?

There was no one around the bend

What purpose do you serve, you see?

Protect and serve, for my safety?

 

Then why, dear sir, must you oppress?

I looked each way, both right and left

‘Twas obvious, no danger here

And so I went, but still you’re here?

 

Truth is, my friend, that light you see

Is simply there for trafficking

A ticket now is petty, no?

Written only ‘cause “I told you so”

 

But hey,  you there, let’s move along

Let’s not get caught up in this “wrong”

The point of using it, you see

Was to make you sit and think

 

So come on now, next stop ‘n still

Is at my cousin’s funer-ill

But don’t feel bad, no please don’t cry

He had it coming, stupid guy

 

Just look around, observe and see

All these tears and cries we grieve

Tell me, is your faith in God?

‘Cause if it is, he’s just a bod

 

That’s right, he’s nothing now, down here

So wipe and dry that tumbling tear

If believe, you truly do

You’d be happy for the news!

 

He’s up there in your heaven, right?

And as you lay down, every night

You tell yourself “we’ll meet again”

But will you really, my old friend?

 

Okay let’s pause, and take a break

I know it’s hard to be awake

This tour is tough, it’s hard for me

To drive folks through reality

 

The truth is harsh, it doesn’t care

What color, skin, or crown you wear

These words offend you? Sacrilege?

Buy “ignorance is bliss” package

 

This tour, I say. it must go on

And money man, it pays the bondS

So let’s move on to our stop three

And talk about our friend, money

 

Here we have, right in our hands

The instrument, that rules our lands

Every single thing you do

Is to make more, more accrue

 

More and more until its thought

We can afford the life we want

Well what if way back, way back when

‘Fore money was invented, friend

 

They’d thought of something else, instead

Like I build houses, you bake bread

Existence without currency

I know its weird, this tour with me

 

Its in a world, where things are not

The status quo, these thing’s we’re thought

Hey, you know, I’m just your guide

That’s how it is, just let it slide

 

Pretend its normal, this new world

Cause every curl we have uncurled

Is hard to think of, yeah that’s right

Because you’ve learned one way, alright?

 

Conditioning, please don’t feel bad

But when you wake up, don’t be mad

These things we’ve taught you to believe

Are all an act, a just reprieve

 

Created rules, and laws you see

To contain the thought that’s free

But now my friends, you have a guide

I need support, this scheduled ride

 

We must end it, I decree

And bring back our humanity

There is a game, you know it’s true

And trust me, world, I need you

Pain

Try to focus elsewhere

Than the hurt that’s in my vein

I’m cheating on the healing

For I’m sleeping with the pain

I want it gone tomorrow

But tonight I need the strain

It captivates, it motivates

It keeps me in this lane

What would I be without it?

Would I be the same?

Continue with my writing

Would I concede the game?

The hurt is real, its present

Each and every single day

I fear to think what I’d become

If one day it went away

It clouds my mind with thunder

Yet the lightning feels so right

As I wake and fake the day

Then remove the mask at night

My cloak, my shield, my weapon

This torment is to me

My life is locked in writing

And pain; it holds the key

Leadership

True intentions lie within

But as you play the game of sin

The dirty secrets start to out

Revealing what you’re all about

It’s happened since

The dawn of time

And as I write

This lovely line

There’s folks that think

They dodge the fray

But we all know

They’re in the play

Act 2, act 3

It matters not

For curtains draw

When you get caught

Now its time

To take a bow

So write that speech

You’ll need it now

I hope its good

This talk you give

This crowd is harsh

They don’t forgive

But hey, you wanted

To play the game

The power, prestige

The empty fame

Now its time

To own right up

And pass the torch

Give back the cup

Let this remind

To those who play

That leadership

Is not a game

Pyramid

Pain

It fills my veins

Evades the remedies

Reaches all my extremities

A life of love so temporary, I allude

I opt instead for darkness, and solitude

Pen and pad are all I want, they’re all I need

Though I try to hide the pain, each day I grieve

Search for calm and peace of mind, a still reprieve

It will not matter now or then, the things that I achieve

The only thing that matters is creation, look and see what I did

Read and read and keep on reading, at the end you’ll see – my Pyramid

Don’t Wait

Oftentimes, I’ll look to see

The person looking back at me

Watching through a hazy lens

At who that strange reflection is

 

Staring forward, several blinks

Is he the person that he thinks?

Does he do the things he speaks?

Is practice coming from the preach?

 

My eyes still glare, this man ahead

I’ll wonder what, that day, is said

Right now I live, and yet I dread

What memory, of me when dead

 

What mark have I bestowed upon

The family that I belong

I hope they say, when I’m a thought

That happiness is what he brought

 

Improved the lives, of all the men

The girls and kids, the children

For life is but a journey, yes

We walk and run, we talk and dress

 

We do the things we love to do

To make ourselves enjoy the dew

Every day, a precious gift

So smile wide, and heart uplift

 

This path is short, don’t waste your time

Just search and search until you find

The purpose you’ve been looking for

Unlock and open passion’s door

Free

Sitting, gazing, pondering

Watching, waiting, wondering

What things do others think at night?

What lights turn on, when shining bright?

 

Some will think of gentle breeze

Blinding true priorities

Truth is veiled, this life of fun

As fear resides behind the gun

 

Condemn them not, instead envy

And long for their reality

To think the things we wish to be

This mind, it pains and torments me

 

The words I write cannot express

But for my sake I shall digress

Question all, its not a sin

Your truth, the real, comes from within

Sincere

Hold on.

Wait.

What did you say?

Did I hear that right,

Or should you say it again?

I could have sworn

You’d minced up your word

Cause surely I didn’t

Just hear what I heard

Let me say something

Don’t twist this, today

I say what I mean

And I mean what I say

So if you are speaking

To me, or to them

You stand by those words

‘Cause I’ll remind you, my friend

So next you request

One to lend you an ear

Consider your words

And make them sincere.

What If They Died

What if they died?

What if that artist

Who painted their works

So great, yet shunned

For personality quirks

What if that singer

Who hit impossible notes

Wasn’t caught up in drama

Or the brunt of your jokes

What if you focused

On content they write

Instead of the bullshit

The cheap and contrite

Why is it, so often

An artist, who yearned

Must die to achieve

The recognition they’ve earned

It isn’t the painter

Whose genius, they leave

It’s ego that chains us

A jealous reprieve

For when you are dead

You’re no threat to us

So sure, we can like you

Just stay off of my bus

Some day, I do hope

The people will see

That passion is living

And envy is greed