Encapsulated time, sweat, passion, and energy… Lost to the onslaught of rushing days. Rough, dirty, folded time -green paper- in a sweaty back pocket. Suffocated by a cheap, worn, black leather wallet. Handed reluctantly like a child from one parent to another, Deposited with the rest of the bills that have been used- For a shiny white gem on a glowing yellow band in a black box. The exchange is bitter-sweet....
When all things go wrong and tears come to eyes, When happiness despairs and the soul releases cries, When you’re feeling lonely, fearful, or confused, When you’re feeling battered, worn, and used, When life has got you down with its constant bad, I’d be glad to talk to you and rescue you from sad. I’d just love to hold you, to let you speak your mind, To put a smile on your face and to help you find-...
The misplaced mind in all its glory, Thinking wildly, an inconsistent story… Of love and hate and work and play- No thought, for too long, chooses to stay. An open door that all thoughts know, And so fluidly, in and out they go. Squeeze and push and pull and prod and run, The pleasing of thoughts; the mind is never done. Like a restaurant, the thoughts dine on cerebral power,...
Listen to him whisper That wise man speak Slowly and deliberately Lost in a world we seek Grey hairs upon the haven Root the secrets within Old hands massage memories And the whispers come again Tongue slowly mumbles Knowledge we implore Exhausted he falls Man upon the floor We roll him out of sight Review the notes and then Satisfied with knowledge We call the next man in Press him for the wisdom...
The old woman’s eyes widen in excitement when her family enters. The room is of a dull white color, a sheet divides it in two. The feeble woman casts a quick smile and then reels it back in. She is embarrassed of her missing dentures and her grey hair. She pulls her blanket closer, to hide her ailing body. She runs her fingers slowly through her thin grey hair....
Sincerity is essential, Honesty a must, Of course no greater credential- Then the ability to trust. A smile that is stunning, Eyes of warmth and joy, A mind that can be cunning, And a body with which to toy. Dreams filled with aspiration, The perseverance to prevail, Ideals that can resist temptation, The humility to fail. Laughter in the voice, Shimmer in the hair, Reasoning for choice, Yes, it should all be there....
The void that lies within my soul; The void that I cannot subject to control; The void I steadily fill with lies; The void is not leaving, surprise, surprise. The emptiness I’ve mistaken for my own self-despair, The feeling of empty – I denied it was there. So my void grew, with time it thrived, Suffocating all other emotions that would fight to stay alive. My love was lost in empty, my sadness in farewell-...
This thought, fake you say? touché? – Ay no, no ay… That demon cannot win, Let’s not ponder him again. You doubt; ah, why, then yes! It’s real, you do confess? Stubborn mind. Cannot see? All is truth – in beauty. Perhaps, take out your eyes- Veil of darkness. No surprise. Clear now. It must seem, Shake sleep, it’s but a dream. Let those rosy fingers show, That, thought, every man must know....
It is every artist’s dream… To create the world how it is seen… Through that artist’s mind… It is every artist’s aspiration… To somehow display their creation… For the world to find… As the artist recreates his views… With words, or paint, or whatever he may choose… That artist’s thoughts are left behind… They are instilled in his art… To later be admired – or torn apart… The art is to be defined…...
I’ll allow those lips of darkness To whisper cold chills upon my skin Because I’ll do it, never again I’ll allow those fingertips of passion To glide through my sweaty hair Because I’ll forget they were there I’ll allow those tender arms to engrave Red pain upon my tired, aching heart Because I’ll quickly, quietly depart I’ll allow that tongue of poison To corrupt, unhinge, my sound mind Because I’ll no longer be confined...