Part of the Problem or Part of the Solution. Choose.

Caring has its own true and simple magic.
Overflowing with the surprising release
Of pent up tension, strain, and disgrace
In your hidden corners of thoughts and heart
When you try to help another’s tears
Fall softer.
Yet there are still other tears
I turn away from.
Right or wrong, that is cold.
I just won’t fake hoping.
I have turned away from
Smiles, too.
Which is strange, and one of the many
Things I just don’t understand.
I know a few things.
And I see them stretch far into Time.
Endless truths, tumbling in the night.
I wish I could make things
Good.

Thoughts on a Sunday

OK
Big bad world out there didn’t get me this time.
Simple fun times and entertaining nothingness.
I have a creative itch that I am just not scratching.
Y’ know?
Can’t quite reach it.
So I am gonna keep on trying.
Even if it never gets got.
All the Cave is a stage. And each of us must Roll his part.


A sad Little Thing. Wish things had been better.
Funny, as that would probably make my view brighter.
Fucked up to say. Worse to feel.
Different good and bad for different folk.
I like being alone or being tired.
Others like noisy crowds.
I have troubles with buying milk.
Really.
Messsssssssed Up!


So, we all walk our own way, to nearly the same place
And we call it life.
As long as I get to listen to interesting sounds
And touch some Pleasures
Now and Then
Everything should end up about
OK

What can You say?

Really.

Those Eyes...

The Wrong can draw and tease.
Temptations understood.
Succulent sin.
I feel violent.
Not in an angry way.
Just sort of Ready.
Which, of course, I’m not.
Not the tough guy,
Though I sometimes play one
On TV.
This urge is not just for
Roughness.
But more to make things
Vibrant.
The way they are when
The situation is not safe
When the comfort level is gone
You have to react to changes.
Bad times.
Bad girls.
Bring ‘em on!

Take the All of It

Smiles break and tears dry up.
Too bad life can’t be all giggles.
Then again, maybe it is the rough spots
Making us tight and sad
That is the steady slow bass to our Song.
A friend cried today.
That happens more than I like.
Both this friend crying,
And crying done by friends.
I want to let them all know these are
The good times.
There are real sorrows out there.
Bloody, cruel, vile and Brutal.
Compared to that
My problems are sort of
Blessings.
So, I wait and I think.
I know all is good,
Getting better, too.
But how to share this certainty?

We hopefully will never know, and We can Never Forget.

These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you’ll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you’ll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms

Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I’ve watched all your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms

There’s so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones

Now the suns gone to hell
And the moons riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it’s written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
Were fools to make war
On our brothers in arms

New from Old

Beauty.
It doesn’t fade, it can’t leave.
It always tears. Burns.
Swollen built up torn requiem-esque
Crumbled and burnt bits of lost hearted
Faded knowledge poetry failing
To encompass the little things and
All that jazz.
That beat. I hear it and feel it.
That tickle, that dare.
Fun is just right there.
All its special oblivion.
With its comforting indifference.
I found out that I am not as smart
As I thought I was.
I am not as lucky
Or as fortunate
Or even as Cool.
And that is fine.
That is good.
As long as it is real.
I just want to see reality.
Breaking like a sunset.
And try to smile at those I love.
While forgetting the things
Which never really
Mattered.
Now, if you will excuse me,
I think I have some pressing matters
At hand.
I have to welcome the Future.
Congratulations, sexy.