"Ordinary Ones"

You can show me all of your picture books
And you can swear its not as bad as it looks
But I know the truth to be had
And I really don't care about that.
I've been a fool only a foolish one could love
I've been fooled a time or two by the man above
But I know the truth to be had
And its not really quite so bad.

So, what are the questions to the answers you seek?
Do you find your conclusions down on your knees?
And who are the ones you think you fear?
Do you run from the all the voices you hear?
Well..

I have a new solution
Bury the fools in the ground

Destroy your institutions
Lay your crosses down

And do you know...
What is takes to live?
What it takes to learn?
Reinstate the truth
Put away your guns
I'm finished with the fight
My ordinary ones

"Night of the Living Dead, Part 6 (Land of the Dead)"

The touch of mortality
Corrupts our sinful flesh
A plague to crush the heart
Beating in our chests
And like the fires of Armageddon
Dancing through the streets
Mindless beasts infect the masses...

The semblance of Humanity
Just one of many masks we wear
As we try to hold on to the pieces
Of this crumbling world we share
Machines of destruction and death
Upon the sanctuary's floor
Pouring their virus into our veins...

Look upon the tower we've built
A reminder of what could have been
Our enemies bare human faces
My killer was once my friend
And this we have constructed
More a tomb than a home
But what is the difference,
Here in the Land of the Dead?

"A Brief Commentary"

I have noted comments on my poetry/lyrics to be somewhat less inspired than those made on essays. Often there is nothing to say, and that I understand. Such is meant to be appreciated or 'experienced', if you wish. Many of the comments are on the 'dark, serious nature' of my works or the 'violent imagery'. As an artist and as an appreciator of art, I find it common for the creative mind to be misunderstood. Often, writings such as poetry or lyrics are left open to the reader's/listener's own interpretation. This interpretation may or may not reflect the author's intentions, it is only how the work spoke to that individual. Sometimes the intent is villainous unjustly, or read out of context.
I often find this occurring with my own writings, and I feel I am being misrepresented or judged falsely because of what someone thought they understood, based on a lyrical piece. I don't really feel I owe on explanation, since I don't write for anyone but myself. I only wanted to take a moment to clarify.
It must be understood that I use the language to display vivid imagery and pain a picture with words. If I were to actually paint the image of Christ on a cross it could be considered violent... It could be considered vulgar, or it could be considered an image of beauty. It really depends on how one looks at it. See, look obscenity and you shall find it. In Psalms, David cries for God to slay his enemies, among other 'violent' requests... Shall we speak ill of his words.
I'm not saying I have written "holy works", only that if they are seen in a certain light, and not understood, they could be misunderstood. But judge me not, lest you reveal your ignorance.

"Can't Shake The Feeling"

A long night in a hotel room
A bottle of jack on the left hand side of the bed
Cool air and lonely blues
Trying to shake the cobwebs out of my hear

Every moment weighs on my heart
And the walls echo with better days
Smooth sheets and the warmth of her breath
The road rolls by in a heavy haze

I can't shake the feeling
I can't put you down
You're like a fire burning out of control
And I don't know,
I don't know if I can

The wheels are turning back to you
And I can't seem to close my eyes anymore
I'm one the other side of 72
But I'm trying to make it in under 24

Yeah, I can't shake the feeling
I can't put you down
You're like a fire burning out of control
And I don't know...
I don't know if I can

Reflections on Previous Posts....

- "Into the Dark" posted June 6, 2010- Some found this to be a dark and chaotic piece, others found it to be insightful. It was not in praise of my own darkness, it was a chronicle of my own struggle with right and wrong. Any who can say the struggle is not real within us all, cast your stone.

- "Night of the Living Dead- Pt 5 (Resident Evil)" posted July 13, 2010- Read literally, it seems to be a horrific portrayal of violent and frightening events. It was inspired by zombie films, but it was a reflection of how those films spoke to me in relation to my current circumstances. Note the line, "Evil seeps through these walls/I hear it screaming inside my skull/A plague unleashed upon the night/The dead have come back to life." It spoke on nights locked in the cell listening to some of the worst people holding ignorant, brain-dead conversations.
I could offer other examples, and I am glad to grant insight into any of my works, all one has to do is ask. Perhaps I will shatter your misconceived notions of what I was trying to say.
I do realize the beauty in the world, and at times write about it. There is joy, but there is also heartbreak, pain, anger, and fear. The essays I post are generally my thoughts or ideas, the intellect at work, while the poetic offerings are my emotional out pourings. To say I walk through life with a permanent smile on my face and joy in my heart bad?
I write from the heart and from experiences. Sometimes a reader will relate, sometimes you won't. I share to inspire and to influence. Some may find beauty in the use of language, and some may take comfort in the fact that someone else shares your pain, or joy, or whatever.
I ask:
Shall I allow loneliness and confusion to weigh down on my soul or shall I write a poem and shake the pain? (See "Fear" posted 6/29/10) Shall I cry for lost love or write a song? (see "A moment of Heartbreak" posted 7/6/10)
Shall I allow anger to bubble into rage and hatred, or shall I rant out my aggression through lyrics (see "wrath of a lyrical Dragon" posted 7/27/10 or "The Book of W.A.R. posted 9/14/10)
And sometimes you have to get out the bad to make way for the good. Not all of my writings are focused on the darker emotional states (see "Destiny Chosen" or "Gone(But Not Forgotten)")
I free myself from the enslavement of emotional turmoil by pouring out my heart through the pen. Knowing this, can anyone find any work of mine that is truly questionable in content? If so, please let me know, I'll be glad to clarigy it for you.

"First Breath"

I don't think that I was ever really alive
Until I...
Saw you waiting on the other side of that fence
And I...
Think I went a little our of my mind
But that's fine...
At least you knew where I went

My first breath burned the lungs
And I can't forget
I can't forget
How you brought the sun
It was you kiss that drove like a fist
And I...
Lost all grip on reality, sanity spilling in a phone booth
So fine...
Your lips like fire blazing my insides
But you're mine...
And you showed me truth

My first breath
Burned the lungs
And I can't forget
I can't forget
How you brought the sun

And the dark fades away
Lost in the taste
Of sweet oxygen...

I don't think I ever really breathed
Until I...
Saw you take away my darkness
Like a new dawn rising in the east
You brought the sun
You brought the sun
You brought the sun

"Programming the Machine"

Religion can be found in prison. It lies in the hearts of everyone afraid to face the reality of their situations. Religion acts as a crutch for the weak-minded, ignorant masses clinging on to their excuses and lies about who they are or were. It is protection for those who fear what may happen to them. Yes, religion can be found, but god is disturbingly absent.
I watch as the zombies shuffle through daily rituals. I listen as they spout memorized verses and teachings that someone else has drilled into them. A machine may be able to carry out certain actions, but it will lack any passion. In this same way, I watch as religion replaces a relationship with the cause. What has out rituals gotten us but a lack of personality.
What has more value, the handcrafted, wooden bench, or the assembly line constructed metal bleacher? Both serve the same purpose, and if properly care for, both will last as long as necessary. The metal bleacher is one many, easily replaced, but the wooden bench is unique, perhaps priceless. The craftsman of the wooden bench has personalized its design, and he has done so with passion.
God doesn't need rituals, he isn't looking for ceremony to be i our midst. The Cause of All Things is with and within us, always. We only need to have the will to discover truth and we will find Divine Inspiration. The methods are less important than the sincerity of out actions.
Yet, rather than concerning ourselves with truth and focusing on being harmonious with creation and creator, we concern ourselves with the proverbial 'right way'. We worry about how everyone else is doing it. We point out the flaws in their methods. We find what they are doing' wrong'. Remove the log from your own eye!
Develop your relationships, nurture them. Focus on what you need to do personalize your efforts, rather than worrying about what others say you should or should not do. Can anyone else tell you to love your family or friends? What you share with those you are close to is in your heart and mind, why shouldn't the same be said of the one you place above all others?

"Spilling Out"

My Blood grows thick
By the constraints of man,
And grows black with decay.
These years pass
Shattered like glass
And I wonder,
Is darkness my only fate?

Now maybe life is a symphony,
And I just don't hear the sound.
Maybe it is a masterpiece
of words,
yet to be found.
If I could put it all together,
Or find the beauty beneath,
I'd have to get out all the bad things
To make it complete

But..
Sometimes you have to get out the bad
To make way for the good
Sometimes you have to break a few rules
To be understood
And sometimes you just have to leave
To ever get home

"Rise From The Ashes"

'We questions all our beliefs except the ones that we really believe, and these we never think to question...'
The world is burning down around us. The fires of envy and hate rage out of control, as mankind becomes nothing more than ashes swirling in the winds of ignorance. Our eyes are veiled, as blindly we are led into the flames of destruction, with no one to blame but ourselves. We are the engineers of our own apocalypse.
Yet, here we sit, staring at the flickering shadows on a wall, content to believe in nothing beyond the cave we have created for ourselves. And what difference would it make if we knew the source of the shadows, when we have chained ourselves to a rock of illusion, indebted to an institution. Should a prophet rise to speak on truth and righteousness, it would be better to lay our hands upon him and cast him down, rather than allow for the possibility of change. While the life we lead now may kill us all, it is familiar... It is easy...
Shall this be our fate, global suicide? Or, shall we turn from our wicked and ignorant ways to lay foundations of wisdom. There is yet hope! When all the mud has been flushed from our eyes, the veil shall life, and we will begin to see possibility. The seeds of change have been planted and within each of us lies the ability to nurture the growth of a new nation. Rise from the ashes of the old, reborn a new in righteousness and joy.