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Remember— oh brothers and sisters
that we are the philosophers of our time.
Us haggard poets of principle and measure,
no matter the plight must rise.
Through tears of understanding
with honest eyes do I
accept thy pleasure’s burden—
to see within our time.
If you told me then
We’d now be coughing blood
You know Doc, I wouldn’t change a thing.
A gentle wind
Lawnmower children
Suburbia moans like a dying hound
With a white satin napkin
He wiped away his pride
That’s it my Lord, my Savior
What more have I to hide?
The pills induced his coma
His blood ran thin with wine
His revelation managed
By the nurse’s over-time
Plumes de Palo Santo
Today carry my worries
Up, up, y away
The doctor lost his patience
One too many times
They would wander like school children
Through the cornfield of his mind
In their single filed silence
Was no ordinary line
Because the doctor and his patients
Walked for miles in simpler times
It’s not exactly the man
that makes for an interesting talk.
But the stories of the man.
And the mythos of the man,
which more often times than not,
are much wiser than the man—
Leaving out his failure
to remind him what he lost.
There is a certain understanding
In the misunderstanding of mankind.
And it’s this misunderstanding
that propels us forward, like a ship
of titanic proportions does not idle
but cuts through waves, and flows
with The Tides of Mankind.
Oh, how the light
Always manages
To see through
The dark.
My insignificance is remarkable.
Perhaps another day maybe,
and this all won’t seem so absurd.
Words Of An Average White Male 