The Last Letter

Dear Jean, you failed,
 You swung too high, atop your tower.
 You rung too loudly at every hour. 
Your gruesome face too much to mask. 
A failure at a simple task. 
Was once a toad with great potential 
Now the bell you sound is non-sequential 
One of a kind, who wouldn't quit.
 Now has not one thing to show for it.


 Dear John, what happened?
 You swam amidst a school of fish. 
A bottom feeder with a twist.
 The current you would swim against 
Would never push you to the fence.
 But you knew, indeed for certain 
that your gills were just a curtain 
For the feet you had been sprouting 
And the taste for bugs you'd gotten. 
Yet you stay beneath the water.
 Leap away! I say to you.
 Keep yourself from staying wet.
 Drying out is more fun I bet. 


I'm wet, I'm mad. I'm also sad. 
I'm drunk. I've sunk On bottom bunk. 
The weight, quite quaint 
What can I say? 
It wouldn't happen any other way.
 Forlorn and scorn in trouble born. 
A rash, a crash. Another day. 
I breed, a seed, please not this time.
I've wined. I've dined.
 It's over now.
 Tonight.... 
Juan, Dear., it's all your fault.

Eclipse

what is it? that paradox. that rythmal phrasing of apathetic words that grin ever so diligently in order to break apart all that can not be seen within my (slate) my (self), in turn I loose what I never gained. I earned it. I deserve what I never cherished. but lost in the end. it was my own (thought) that aided my (own) existence I am now here. but what (I) am is not what ( I ) expected to become. my own expectations shattered by the stars of our night skies. Our night skies. we share them because if they were truly mine I would not have let them leave. but because I felt they were meant to be seen I relinquished my power over them. as I have many times with things far more vital. the benevolence that I (once) had. broken as only a spirit can break the soul of a young (Tenderfoot) A new born child (strangled) in the cruel grasp of an eternal suffrage. a ball of orange yarn spun in the heart of these pointless specks of yellow dust. I see them. every day as they accumulate more and more I see them cry. they shed tears of joy. they tell me they are dust and nothing more (so they say) I break as I see them cry. and I try to comprehend why. I look in their eyes and I see this river. A river of hope and satisfaction that falls down the boldness of their strength. and an interesting story they tell. "I have never seen the brightness of night nor the gloom of day nor the shine of the clouds on your face, I am proud that what is seen is heard not only thought" I growl in contempt and sniffle at their wit. a choke of wind explodes from my appetite. and they are gone the quench of their prowl was enough for myself to hurt. they wounded me. my chest, my heart. the peril of their gratitude was all that kept me sain. so pathetic is the world without weakness. a ball of bestial brutes command the minds of a great. controlled only by the hate they breed. like those creatures in shanties who prowl at night with their weapons. not clubs not bars but addiction, I feel the pain of deception not my own but theirs. there own deception cause me pain and I can not help but see them fail. it's a joke and they are not laughing. I laugh out of pitty, an effect only hate can double. like a tree without thorns being climbed in a forrest. no bite ,just bark. A bark loud enough to break a fall. it is in this forrest that justice is appealed and vengence is paraded. orders hang from limbs. they are only picked up by the hungry. those who wish to better themselves. those who wish to live in peace . those who indulge in compassion and good judgment. an addiction that can not be cured. only until death with that disease be gone. but from the rotting corpes can infection be spread. he with those similar symptoms will soon die as well. only those who hide what ails them will survive but with no effect on the forrest other then an everlasting life. life is the criminal responsible for this. and death is the enforcer. and I thrive as the ever lost. an important mass of despicable power. so far off from the world can the cries of a god flow like the yarn that caused our grief. and the old lady who knitts the cloth with which we cloak ourselves in times of shame. do not get into my head. leave before the stars fly and the worls melts. time is on your side. use it and be proud not in terms of length but in stature. (Stand.)

Eudaimonia

When limbo rises from the dead, one wonders if it's really gone. 
a stones throw from the Buddha's pond. a life with wary visage. 
what conquers all and takes a throne? The living dead would stand and moan
"what wonders could I seek alone?" 
A carriage then pulls whom is lost. a sadness stricken at a cost
"what courage can I come to?" for what is gone will come to pass. 
and something new will mend the cast. A strike to bring you to your knees.
the pain so bad you want it out. but you can't do it with a shout. You mope and bleed 
the feeling out and hope one comes to help you. "Please?" you beg an empty sky.
"Help?" you pound the ground. 

A shining light feels cold. the dry tears now feel old. 
a year has gone. what can be done? but go on with your sorrow.

A shade of musky water pours from a broken glass.
the blind can lead the blind for authority does pass. 
we seek redemption from an act, but more we seek our fate.
and as a problem grows our anger escalates. 

what rash decision does bear bitter fruit? 

what rotten fruit can spoil a weave so absolute? 

But there is yet attention paid to masters of disguise
where weary creatures seek a mask to be part of the guise. 

The cursive is yet spent. and every line now bent. if such a pleasant end were met would there then be regret? 

Soylent Greens

Trust in holes not in parts. 
varied from person to person. 
our thoughts now made up.
from ideas flushed from great influence. 
you need to make up your minds before you make up your beds. 
quarries relented by our upside down heads. 

Green homes and green cars. 
make green people stars.
and with life's choices made true 
we reflect on what's on the tube. 

withdraw our bias. 
and implement our pious beliefs to our crumbling world 
show your strength where there's weakness. 
and certainty where there's doubt. 
relay illusions from which hope is sprout. 

we'll be the bell of the balls 
ring sweet sorrows demise 

the system's got us covered.
feed us all tasteful lies. 
good god that's good pressure.
it's too late for good byes. 

like Soylent Green.
they'll feed us our own
while they eat green food.
in green shelters at home.

The future is science fiction

I wish to make a change. I want to make things new. I cannot let things be the future's up to me. I'll start a new belief, I'll make them all believe. A new truth for the world, with great discoveries. I'll read and write my views and sell them to the news. They'll buy it for a dime and sell it to the times. My new message will spread. They'll then know what's ahead. A new idea for man spread by a shadowed hand.
A difference I will make indeed my life's work done. They trust it, use it for the better of humanity. Alas I made a change for the better of the world. I succeeded in my goal what comes next I do not know. 

I want to make a change this old man doesn't know. The future is up to me I'll make new history. I'll spread my thoughts. They follow me. their interest peaked they come in close. I tell them truth. With eyes wide open. now they know. Their new king has spoken. Listen men and women faithful. Change has come let's not be hateful. Truth and justice will prevail you are all good and pure we can not fail. 
Indeed today I've made a difference. I am king and things are good.

My forefathers all made changes. I wish to do so too. I'll do it as they did. And tell then what they know. I'll start by telling them they're kind. All gentle souls of course. They'll buy it like they always do and keep me as their proof. I flatter them with truths of courage. Justice as my guise. Then while in power a change I must devise. I'll hide my true intention with laws and proclamations. They all want happiness. A gift I can't dismiss. Flowers for the mothers kisses for their child. They'll love me like their leader. I'll smile and give them blessings. My time like father past is through a change indeed I've made. I only wish for children coming to realize my game. We'll give them truth and justice. While we take all their freedom. They do not know the difference. Like cattle when we feed them.

Weakness

It's gonna be weak with days and nights.
that make up a month. 
and breaks into years. 
Latent with fears. of rejection and tears.
 midnights a fright. 
Sleep blooms dark gloom. 
sweep up the right sight of the kite.
 in to the flowing illustrious tornado's plight. 
doomed in a vicious spiral, cut to shreds we all can't sleep in our beds. 


I choose tails. life lands on heads. 
distinguished young acrobats balance books and life on a tight rope.
 ride unicycles on one track. as their minds evolve on multiple choices. 
a b c d their tests are not for me.
 life's not a spelling bee, 
where hives hang atop the trees 
with sorry drones out over seas
 with honey dripping anarchy. 
the sweet sound of liberty
 the bitter taste of alchemy.
 a somber form of charity. 
we can't expect much more from me. 
the bird inside his sacristy. 
a cage with halls of blasphemy 
damned with kismet chastity.

Simpleton

The sands fall far from the storm and the buried lay beneath

I walk along this desert.
I drown in my thirst.
the need to understand dries my throat

unable to call for help
the saliva sticks
disgust follows

the dry horrid wasteland seems everlasting
this death march
is ever a fitting end

the squawks and tweets from savvy vultures
await my death

to use it as their means

but what can harm bring more then it's dread?

I lay with out breathe in the harness that is my consciousness
a last withering lifeline keeping me in existence

I hear prayers, I hear liars, I heard lovers.

can't hear hope.
I hear strict reminders of agony and sacrifice.

I hear deeds done for me.

I hear respect.

I can't hear my heart beat

for what hope can men bring to a torn and withered dystopia bound by standard not kept by the vultures whom set them. 

Left out to Dry

dwindle from a leaf a drop of water.
like a tear drop from a glossy eye*
the landing bursts with joy for what lovely plant should rise.

will the roots be strong?
can this new life hold.
or will it be thusly torn out with little effort.
a plant shall indeed blossom
and a great tree will grow

perchance an investment will be drawn from what ever time one has left.
will the leaves sour?
will it's fruit not ripen?

great courage does a plant have under the shade of a greater tree

valued persistence can reap great rewards and ordered confidence will
be a prize.
every seed has a chance to grow.

but in hopes that it lands on excepting soil. 

Apprehension

acquitted instances erased.
remorseful uttering in place for my own happiness now entering 
a bitter drought of meager doubt 
whether my cloud blockade wears thin 
or I've since clearly forgot where I've been My sinking repression of sin 
has got me down again. 

what good deeds come from within? be it not suggested once again from loud mouthed sobs whom raid out every thought with bare suggestion.

I've counteracted every vow 
to ensure that I am now free from ones cold grasp. 
why suppress a steadfast gasp to breathe another breathe of gas that would sooner lift me to my grave then to my feet? 
when in crime we hold a key that exploits both you and me and cause our silence to be free of harsh recourse. 
OH! 
when one seldom seeks a line and would slip from time to time can our senses be divine to pure neglect? 
we've all dug deep in our holes 
sleep sweet sleep in our woes and lived life like no ones knows we've given in to simple vices. 

so I submit to you my ache. and hope to one day soundly wake into a world devoid of meddlesome affairs and rotten grandeurs

Break Fast

A hand on your mug, as with the other you pour eagerly with coffee. dropped at the instant it burns the hand and stains the floor. quips of pain overwhelm what sense is left in your wrist. now raw and tender. like a lovers touch on new brave hearts. inflamed with joy. aroused with mystery blamed for fate, ill maneuvered 

moving toward realizing of false hopes that relied on bitter magnitudes from movers and shakers. 
1 to be loved. 
2 to be forgotten and 
3 to crowd the street and proclaim premature happiness. 

a love blossomed from a question and expanded from dire desperation a word tossed so heavily and powerfully to an chosen victim that mere acquaintance would suffice and from which true love would become so. 

from which fellowships would depart. and replaced by ire, sorrow, and shame. another year would go by and faint memories would be raveled and displaced like cob webs in a room free of old heart breaks.
and as the clock would strike noon it's time for tea. 
time to rest. 
time to think 
time to wait 
to get back to work.

Baptism

It's no longer History. 
New waves push the sands of time adrift. 
The seas of doubt stripped of it's salty blue calmness.
 Like tears, the memory of truth burns the dry wasteland of our perceptions 
And dawns a new mantle. 

Our earth quakes, our seas turn against us.
 What new age births such destruction? 

A lost cause, a new one found, beyond the borders.
 The lingering seed of destruction sprouts.
 Like weeds grow. 
The salt of the earth.

Psyche

Alone the night stands tall.
 Resistance tells it all. 
A step away from solitude, 
lies a bright and withered soul. 
Sharpened wits turned dull. 
An arrow for the bold. 
Now brazened wounds ensure the doom of armors overhauled. 

A ghost ship, takes sail. 
Conquest will prevail.
 At least it seemed within the dream 
Of a foolish would be king. 

Gods are jealous beings it seems, 
Attuned to every little thing
For would deception come to pass 
The bliss of peace would never last. 

As Psyche rode to hell, The golden ass slept well.

Two Birds One stone

I'm pulling the trigger,
Delving in to the realm created in this new age. I have shot myself with a loaded question. Assuming an answer I haven't given yet. Is it worth it? 

Shoot first ask questions later, A society built on movement. Never look back, lest you turn to stone. Become immobile. Held in place by nostalgia. A brick and mortar history. You're reason for being. One must sacrifice oneself then. Become one stone amongst many. Thrown at the glasshouse we call mediocrity. Gather no moss.

Naked on the south side. Empty on the inside. An epigamic tint on a shallow flightless fowl. A grandiose rebuttal for a simple movement. The higher we fly the smaller we appear to those beneath us.. 

The Arching Butterfly.

oh fly away home
to your life on the moon.
there you can roam
and I'll be there soon

the devil locked her in her room and now she sleeps alone.
for why would robbers take the stone
if not for what is shown.

the butterflew straight to the moon
and shot the arrow last.
it tumbled quick into the chest
and sunk into her heart.

oh blood, oh boy, what murder hast to murderer done.
but bleed out a riper soul.

to laugh at this, her lonely heart
where in burrowed a hole.
to chipper was the feeling,
to boastful was the woe
that now the hero holds the key
where no man choose to go.

where in her mind she has the quest to wither in her home.
the butterfly has broken out.
and now her woes be sown.

across the world the issues glide.
like papers in a gust.
and with letters set aside.
redemption be it just?

oh sever the ties between the whim of latter poetry
and break the bonds to the routine
with perfect symmetry.

cut not the string that binds the flame
but cluster up its ends.
cause with the sorrow shut, it will remain the same.
to swiftly make amends.
and never pass the blame. 

Et tu, tube?

A screen exalts a withered cry

for was the round lost to pride,

misguided are we in the game

for lost is our eyes within the frame

a movement jerks the cry of shame

for on what more can we place the blame

but the colosseum.

placed above us is the means

for which we are one with machines

indeed we seek a better world

but put on hold, is living.

Resist the urge to speak our mind 

assist in purging all the signs

a warning on the wall says "watch"

a blind man hears but cannot touch.

a braille room with braille walls explain the 

meaning of the calls.

for what can man do more then yearn 

to seek a waste of time to learn of which war was won

who's ode to fame. 

is something Caesars death won't yet explain

Untitled 3/6/2008

Prologue ( 3/3/2011)
The context now is beyond me. But what I had written so long ago to me still tells me something about who I was. It's as if I have gone through time and saw the someone that I wish I still was. Still soft. Not hardened by battle or as cold and uninterested. Many things have changed in four years. I wish I was as informed as the tenderfoot below. I can't express myself as eloquently anymore.

03/06/2008
Part 1
Imagine if hearts had warranties? or love was like a trading game. well more then it is already. or like good china? people might be more careful if love was a physical thing.. I guess it kinda is. I mean like if love was not abstract. if it wasn't an idea. if it was something that could be held. I'm not talking like a necklace that you wear to impress people. love isn't good jewelery. you don't just put it in a drawer every night when you go to bed. Imagine if love was not a joke. like it was actually something serious for a change. if it wasn't a game of ping pong. where you compete with the other one on and off hoping to get your opponent at just the right angle where they miss a hit and you get points. Imagine if love was mutual. not just a hodgepodge of emotions built at random places that create a fortress of dishonesty. Imagine if love wasn't a weapon. where you throw it around over your head like a sling at your enemies. what if love wasn't blind. you would actually know where you were going for once in your life. what if love wasn't a mouse trap. where you could just get the cheese and not get hurt from the repercussions. what if love wasn't a good thing. what if it was something to fear and not look forward to. what if it was something no body wanted. like a sock with no partner. what if love was like time it never stopped for you and would keep going whether you liked it or not. what if it was a cushion? its would shield you from a hard fall. what if love was a choice. not just something that comes with out knowing. what if love was an action? would it speak louder then words? is love worth the struggle? is it worth the hope? is it worth all the damage? my answer is yes. love is a persistent answer with no real question. it's the meaning of life it's both it's alpha and omega. all life starts with love and ends with love. "to be or not to be that is the question." 

Part 2 
is it a virtue to have no regrets? does it exemplify ones serenity? I gripe with regrets. and am so plagued with my mistakes. I have many regrets and I am ashamed by the many actions that have ensured my humanity. for one to say they have no regrets would appear as if one opted to make a mistake. or does it assure ones certainty. does having no regrets give the illusion of strength and if so does it invoke a sense of pride for possible grimy actions. but I would like to think I am mistaken. perhaps to have no regrets would mean that you've come to terms with your action. That even though you were at fault. that you did a horrible thing. you've accepted your own humanity. or perhaps if we all regret what we did. we would not be able to focus on what we got from it. whether it be piece of mind or it was for the greater good. to live with regrets would be as useful as living still in the past. I live my life with regrets. but I don't ever wish to correct them if I had a chance. be it stubbornness or acceptance of my wrongs for that reason. 

Part 3
when your problems are all but dead. you could collect all your problems. put them all in a coffin. bury them. leave them for dead. and like lies told ages ago. they break free from their tombs. return to your life and take their revenge. a healed heart becomes once again ripped from your chest. a sound mind, consumed by these thoughts. thoughts your left for dead. thoughts you buried alive out of despair. you cant murder your problems in one hopeless attempt. I can run from these things. I can even hide. but when I'm at the bridge. between hope and unrest. the latter will take my place. and I will become one for them to bury. 

Part 4 
You could lead a horse to water, but never make it drink. So you throw it in the water. and vainly watch it sink. you stand there acting stoic. it's movements make you think. I never should have fought her. she sank with just one blink. 
Part 5 
-Finale it's experiences that are testament to reality. one can think any thought and be thoughtful. Give the world more then a sigh of desperation. do not burden yourself with callous thoughts of hope. It's better to die then to live for one reason alone. Because to die is to let go. and to let go is to accept. and with acceptance nothing more can do you harm. the gravity of attention sparks valid reactions toward our surreal natures and we denounce our sensations by merely coursing the range of emotions that flow through thoughts and unexpectedly become actions. I was subject to such experiences and was forthright with my actions. and now, I would not have the nerve to say sorry, but I know you'd have the nerve to forgive me.