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Gimme

His fingers are fat And under his stomach his Belt holds on for dear life. His dress clothes from work, His cubical job, selling bullshit for A living. The world owes him in his mind, He sits there in his chair. ‘I want a bigger TV. I want a cake. I want a new chair. I want a new phone. I want a dog, A cat, A shirt, New shoes, Leather couch, Lots of money, And lots of women. I want the world and they should give it to me.’ Hated by his neighbors. Unlooked upon by women, Disowned by co-workers. He lives, alone, not Paying for anything. Not trying to make any more money Not going into the world. He can see the TV, the chair, The dog, he can see the cake Looming in the distance. He’ll never get it, He’ll never deserve it. Kid with a wife that he no Longer knows. Escaped one Trap. Now dying in self-inprisonment.

Ignorance

I wake up every morning to The smell of the flowers And the wonderful sun that Streams sweetly in my window. I get out of bed to start Another beautiful day, Where I live so Sweetly. On my way to work I see only The storefronts, freshly painted and shop owners standing on the steps waving and smiling. I get to my job and everyone is Happily typing their Work. I open the news paper and See all the wonderful stories The ones about the puppies and the Heroic deeds, the finding of treasure. I go home at night to my house that I love in My beautiful city, that is thriving so brightly. I still smell the sweet smell of rose petals as I tuck myself Into my sheets and pray, knowing that He heard me. I never get bummed out and I never am sad, The world is a beautiful place and everything is wonderful here.

Aging Imagination

As the time ticks away and the calendar pages turn. Birthdays come and go Like changing day. Once so alive and Lush. Now The time has taken its toll. No time to do anything To sit and think to wonder about all of those questions that can never be answered. No time to think of the absurd And the wonderful. Just time to worry And fret about the headlines Of the news paper and Get angry at the taxes. Imaginations live and die In one lifetime. With age comes wisdom And life cut in stone. Nothing left in the Places where our imaginations Once flowed. We grow old And dry up. Willingly. Become jaded And skeptical. Imaginations live and Die, it seems overnight. In one lifetime we see The dragons and the knights And the magic, the awe and the wonder. Until one day Where we see just the blank slate Where the stories and Wonderful paintings used to be. Growing old and Misplacing the magic Forgetting where We put it.

Living

In the morning; sky full of sun, (rising). Stretch. Crackle, (yawn). Hair. (a mess), looking your Best, best. Full are you Of life and living. (Grinning). . A new day; A start. A beginning. (use it! you must!) Commute. Work. (a bore). Home. Create. Think (alive). Write. Draw. (freedom!). Smile, retreat. Propped up Feet, feeling your best, best. (best!); In the evening; sky for of sun (sinking). Bed. Think. Worry. Settle. (calm!) Sleep. Dream. Awake. (REPEAT). .

Knowledge

Falter and fallen, The flag of our (fathers). In hearts green with envy and greed. Follow him through the desert And he will lead you forever in place. Bow and honor, offer (and) pray. Praise and worship till the end of your days. Hating others who don’t feel the same way. The night still is haunted with (thoughts) And (sins), fearful of the world around you. . . . I see truths. (unmasked illusions). He didn’t make the world, or the evil on it. You are content eating their pure lies, Nothing but space lives (above) our blue skies. I hold the key, to (open your eyes). . Unlock your senses and see through the fog. Welcome to the world. . How are you today? I’m sorry to tell you but (A = A). No illusions here, for your mind to hide. You are how You are!

Cruelest of Cruel

Oh! Cruelest of cruel How wicked, and wretched Now in the ominous dark The glow of your eyes Shines through, like beams, Save me from thy wrath. Fallen hearts and faint beginnings Cruelest of cruel Stare at me not, ominous grins, Fears are risen as Shadows dance a ballet of broken tomorrows. Weave and drop, weave and drop, My lungs contract as your knuckles go Pop.