So much to do, I forgot where to start,
foul clothes need cleaning soon,
holes need mending in my heart.

Pick a plan, a string of circumstance,
figure it all out before you're done.
I just wish I could've had the chance
to consult before I'd begun.

Sit down with the unmoved mover
and ask why we must maintain,
a state of perfection for him to maneuver
in the realm of our senses again.

Just a word, a glimpse, a sign
would be more than enough,
but when the only voice is mine
it makes it rather tough,

For me to get an accurate view
of what life should be,
of what's really true.

They say he lived among us
for thirty three some odd years,
and they're awfully zealous
concerning the resurrection that relieves all their fears.

I've examined what they call evidence
and there's some compelling reasoning,
but it's tough to tell the difference
between inherent logic, and wishful thinking.

The latter clouded my judgment
so it seemed to all make sense,
I wanted to find contentment
so I put up a weak defense.

For now I'm content not knowing
the underlying nature of reality,
where we came from, where we're going,
and what the sense of it all might be.


Be True to You

so tough to be original
to have a unique thought
unless you abandon the traditional
modes of thinking, do not
be afraid of your intelligence
seek a new path, get lost
ponder the purpose of your existence
find the lines yet to be crossed

the old ways are stagnant
there's traffic on that road
so be yourself for a moment
let insecurity implode
you'll be wise to drop its weight
or end up paralyzed by fears
that whatever you say or create
will stumble awkwardly past deaf ears

don't create to get noticed
that's a perk, not the goal
learn always to be modest
spark the fire in your soul
get worked up about what you feel
stop languidly passing through
don't hesitate to share your zeal
in hopes that it might outlast you


Search for Freedom

Don't waste time in fits of frantic worry adjust your mood, you better hurry or else you'll be alone within, alone without you can't even listen to what he's talking about you're too concerned, irrationally so with the book you can't find, where did it go? my mind is a TV without the remote a tune that slips back to the same worn out note the more I try, the less it does an exercise in futility, because it simply must pass in its own time write a poem, listen to Sublime occupy your mind, think of something to create take the time to perfect it and make it great you'll soon forget what not to recall and stumble upon one of the greatest truths of all a worried mind stifles an artist’s imagination and the way to find freedom is through creation

Change of Heart

a man alone adrift at sea nothing but his boat and he no crew, no kids, no friends or wife this used to be my ideal life but now I've learned the value of someone nearby to show my love it takes the focus off of me and evokes the change i wish to see the world's lack of love sucks and most care more about bucks than taking any interest in what those close to them do and when I now want a wife, but it must be just right the kind I can't stop thinking of in the middle of the night who's funny, spontaneous, but mature who has no idea what life's all about, or at least isn't sure who wants to learn with me, maybe show me some things and who won't run away despite what tomorrow brings call me old fashioned, or a romantic idealist but in my humble opinion, i'm simply a realist

American Nightmare

I woke today and stumbled out of bed, And there beside me was, to my surprise, Two bulbous eyes atop a lumpy head. He spoke, at last, about the way our skies Are filled with smoke; the scar of our neglect and disregard; those things not quite pristine Are junked for lack of novelty, reflect on all the pain you've felt, the hurt you've seen. A hobo sobs alone amid the crowd, the hunger lingers on, the streets his bed, To him the simple things are not allowed, He often wants to sleep and wake up dead. The creature's rant revealed the truth to me, On earth, we are our own archenemy.

Outta Bed

Outta bed sleepy head time's a wastin' Today's never been And it'll never be again so much creatin' Left to do so you should Rise and shine another day on planet earth where the sky's blue the grass is green and so's everything in between A sunbeam lands across my face as i decide that as it stands this particular place just might be the space for me

Wrong Winds

What is love? is it big is it small
 does it float does it fall?
 Will it cause lonely hearts to meet in line for smokes or in the street
 Do you really know or is it just
 that as always you've gotta trust
 the winds of fate
 But I hate those winds they don't blow right
 My destiny's not for me can love be wrong?

Not the Same

This Place is not the same as it was yesterday All those things which defined it have since gone away Much has changed and though it's still the same location from our point of view the earth has rotated and flown gyrated been thrown through space and time This rhyme was written across several points in both dimensions are you apprehending what im saying or are you just playing with no frame of reference as relative motion carries you away relative to today