So Very Far "Away"

Have you ever had that kind of day?
Where everything is so very far away?
I have, I think it's rather neat.
The distance between my head and my feet


I don't really know what causes it.
Too much sleep or a lack of it.


The world is so far outside my bubble.
All thats left in here is me and air.
No room left for a single care.


Sounds are muted, gone.
Surprised I can still see the sun.
I can see everything in high definition.
But I can barely hear a car's ignition.


My brain is light, but my body is lead.
This is all probably all in my head.
I don't even think about not thinking.
I can't stand, I'm sitting or sinking.

I'm sink down, down, down into my shoes.
Sinking down to the bottom of my sole.
And yet my head is in the clouds.
Just watching over all the crowds.

Like 7-Up . Bubbles, within bubbles.
Layers of air between me and my troubles.
Like unadulterated reality.
A single moment of simplicity.

Before I wake, and the mood is gone.
I'm gonna feel the warmth of the sun.
I enjoy those slow high def days.
When my feet seem so very far away.

A Moth to the Flame

The moth floats along carefree.
Till the day he happens to see.
Her, the flame upon the candle.
He thought he had a handle.
On every little urge.
All his desires begin to merge.

He's stricken by a curiosity.
Now an alluring depravity
Pulled by a certain gravity.
Pulled closer and he cant escape.

He doesn't even want to leave the show.
But we know, oh yeah we do know.
Just how bad things like this can go.

The flame becomes a sort of fixation.
An obsessive thought, a temptation.
And its reach extends far and near.
Dulling the reason and the fear.
The moth is on an override.
He up, goes, and flutters by.
He could have had the stars and the sky.

So focused on the main event.
The saucy flame that heaven sent.
And he goes goes goes right into harm
Straight into her fiery arms.

Enticed beyond the point of safe return.
Watching her smolder and burn.
He approaches, utterly seduced.
And the little moth is reduced.
To nothing but a bit of ash.

Just some ash of a chance encounter.
Left along with all the piles around her.
And the cricket that watched begins to sing.
Oh, intimacy is a dangerous thing.

The Saint of D.

Preface: I just kind of wrote this bit after watching Dark Knight and talking to one of my friends over coffee about religion being used obscure the truth. I would also like to state that I grew up in a conservative religious town, and feel that a little bit of chaos is needed in our lives. It would be rather boring with out, don't you think? Anyway, here... we... GO!


There was a boy born in a hamlet.
He wanted acceptance, to be let in.
To spread repentance, for your sins.
He wanted you to be pure.
To go and atone.
But only because he was alone.

The people said, inside their heads.
The boy, the gall, looks down on all.
Smug little brat I wish he'd fall.
Lil' busy body, do-gooder.
Don't want shit from him.
I won't be listening.

That ain't fair, it's really not.
I'm giving it all I've got.
This isn't really for myself.
All I ever wanted was to help.

Why did no one help another.
Was it too much of a bother?
And so the saint fell into despair.

No helped the helper.
Just let him suffer.
He had a mission so we could atone.
But nobody came, so he suffered alone.
No one came to support, or help.
So he turned in upon himself.

The boy was hurt.
The boy was bitter.
All he ever got was a smirk and a titter.
Things began to change his view of the world.
His smile became broken and curled.
Into an unyielding sneer of defiance.

Looking back my eyes get misted.
I used to be pure, now I'm purely twisted.
I don't really remember what happened that day.
But I thank all those who made me this way.
I'm a cynical saint, hip hip hooray!

Life goes on like a pick up truck.
It wont stop until everyone is fucked.
The "Sermon" goes on...

We are the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve.
If "God" cast them out, and had his revenge on them.
What makes you think he likes us?
He most likely HATES us.
So why do we suck up to this "God".
If anything, he just wants to be left alone.
It's up to us to help ourselves, because we are not special.
We are clay left over from "God's" workshop, leftovers.
And thus we will mold ourselves into whatever we want to be.
Planet killers, leaders, sheep, ones with the sky earth and sea.
Thus is my command, sheep.all those who follow me.
Spread my word, the word of "D"

I'm no regular saint but one of "D"
I need no church, I have the world.
by the masses I was Ordained.
Saint of "D" or the "Stained"
My first commandment.
" Let it Out"
HAhahahahahahaHAHAHAAH!

A Girl Named Winter, Snow & Ice

Preface:Merry Giftmas every body! I wish you all a happy holiday of your choice and my gift for you is this winter themed poem I wrote a few years back but never really published or finished.Enjoy! Ho ho ho, lads, lasses, and punks.

"Winter"Burning in my mind like a cinder.
Shining within my mind like a jewel.

Within the mind of this poor fool.

The wind swept snow.

I watch her go.

My spine gets chills.

My heart gets thrills.

I stand entranced,as she continues to dance-sweeping over the hills.

Many names, by which she can go.

Many simply call her "Snow".

Rather a princess than a queen.

With her crown of frost.

And her dress pristine.

Once I awoke, long ago.

Through the window.

Then I first saw snow.

She was so fair.

On the ground, in the air.

I went outside."Snow" was everywhere.

I was simply standing, watching in no haste.

Wanting to kiss, wanting a taste.

Kind and gentle, she did descend.

Over the cities and farms.

Soon, I found myself in her arms.

That morning a fool was disarmed.

Though "Winter's" side of "Snow" is quite nice.

I like her just as well, when she is "Ice"

She is daring and bold.

As well as smooth and cold.

She is collected and cool.

And has little time for the fool.

Who has all the time in the world.

But with the fool she's not done.

They've yet to have more fun.

Dancing upon a mirrored floor.

She knows the score.

That he still wants more.

Together they fall and slide.

Walk and glide.

Doing whatever they dare.

Though She's afraid to care.

Afraid to give too much.

To one as such, as he.

As a child he loved "Snow".

As young man, he pined for "Ice".

All in all "Winter" thought him to be quite nice.

She thought "It's a pity"

"That I and he"

"Couldn't possibly"

"Ever really, be"

"Can't he see?"

The fools reply was simply this.

We have embraced.

We've shared a kiss.

I've seen you descend.

Though I knew this dream would have to end.

But would you...Could you...Grant one boon perchance?

May we still dance?

For that, once a year.

I will not shed a tear.

Heed me, your fellow.

To all the scores of fools.

For you may care for "Winter"

"Winter" cares not for you.

Run! I give you a head start!

So she will not also break your heart.

Though I know she will never be mine.

I will think of those happy times.

And regret, not a thing.

For I have seen her dance.

And have heard her sing.

In her embrace I did know bliss.

Only matched when we first kissed.

Of all the seasons, I loved "Winter" the most.

For her I offer this as a toast.

To her my Muse, my Aphrodite.

And for the readers enjoyment.

The Weak and the Mighty.

~Fin~

The Mountain and the Wind

Ponder this if you will.
The Mountain and the Wind which is the best?
The one with energy or the one with rest?

In the Mountains defense, its got common sense.
Steady support of the rock, immovable.
Strong will to remain the same, unflappable.
So very tall, looking over us all.
Imbued with pride in his strength, unbeatable.

The Wind has it's moments too.
He saves the gentlest caress for you.
He may be fickle but terribly honest.
He doesn't care to be the best.
He doesn't need a reason.
Just an impulse and a season.
Young, energetic, incorrigible.
Lively, free, unstoppable.

But can the Mountain crush the Wind?
Crush what cannot break but only bend?
Can the Wind move the Mountain?
Whisk away, what does not yield?
Both are good but which is the best?
The familiar stronghold, or the one on a quest?

The Wishing Ghost

One night I went on a walk.
I met a ghost and we began to talk.
He said "nice to meetcha I don't mean to boast
But I am the local Wishing Ghost
Now tell me boy what you want most".

And I did with gusto, I did with abandon.
I told him everything, it was a bit random.
My goals, all my aspirations.
The list went on and on.
We talked about such things till dawn.

The wishlist was long, the topics were ample.
Too many, so heres just a sample.
I wish I could see the world.
I wish nice guys would get the girl.
I wish I could be in two places instead of one.
Just like that ad for double-mint gum.
I wish I could play the guitar.
I wish I knew how to drive a car.
I wish I was good at kung-fu.
I wish for a better answer than 42.
I wished and wanted quite a lot.
And heres the reply that I got.

The ghost was really something.
I should have seen it coming.
"I wish I had nickel for every time some sap believed I actually granted wishes"
and with that he faded away.
I felt like an ass, and laughed all day.

"Political Correctness" is...

to pardon my profane language, utter bovine defecation. Yeah, that's right I said it. I don't get it, sure there are things that shouldn't be said but it gets to a point of ridicularity. That and double standards just urinate me the fornication off. It is all together menial, pointless, time consuming and absolutely frustrating. It is sugar coating things, I understand in cases where that it is necessary- BUT there are quite a few people who take it way too far. Like literature or lyrics on the radio, or people just bringing their kids to movies and then complain how it is a bad influence. Seriously people, get Tivo, or just stay involved with what your kid watches. Other than that, I feel that people get bent out of shape too much with certain words. "Vulgar" words like fuck and bitch. I dream of a world where being called a bitch is a term used in every day life, such as "You're not just any bitch, you're my bitch" and the word fuck can be used in a diversity of ways like Boondock Saints, such as "You sober handsome fuck!". I actually found a book called "The Big Book of Politically Correct Bed Time Stories", it was much funnier because it was politically correct, Sometimes it just makes it worse. There's this place called Templar Arizona where there is a civil war statue where a cavalry man is trampling native americans with his horse. Some Native Americans got kind of urinated, so the town removed the heads to create anonymity, doing so made it the statue funny as feces but so terrible. Somewhat akin to rolling a person in a trash can down a hill and laughing. I dream of world that doesn't need political correctness, I dream of a world where words still hurt, just not as much. Now ain't that grand?

Getting It Out Of The System

Sitting in front of my key board.
Writing the words going through my gourd.
Not really sure just what makes sense.
I'm not really sure if I'm just dense.
It's true.

Out there, feeling confused.
Havin' trouble staying enthused.
Not really sure where these thoughts are going.
Signs of tiredness have started showing.It's true.
Havin' trouble closing my eyes.I found out it's 2:00, what surprise.
To me.

Thinking 'bout things, but I'm on the fence.
Gettin' it outta my system in a sense.
Typing away without pause.
An insomniac with a cause.
Tonight.

I'm feelin' a bit slow, and a bit dense.
Not that much begins to make sense.
Trying to decide, but I'm on the fence.
Tonight.

You know what? I'm gonna confess.
My brains a bit muddled and a bit of a mess.
I'm a bit confused to the core.
I can't remember five seconds before.
Oh no.

Typing away at my keyboard.
Writing the words in my gourd.
Hoping my work comes to fruition.
Hoping for some Absolution.
Just hoping I get some sleep.
Just wating for some sleep.
Today....Fuck.

Lucky or Unlucky?

Sometimes I wonder about this. I really do and it bothers me because my friends have said on numerous occassions that I am like Rasputin because we feel that I am pretty much unkillable. Let's review the damage; age four I mistook matches for crayons and drew on the concrete walls of the apartment (thus burning myself), age 6 I got bit in the ass by a dog because I mooned it, I lived on a farm for a while and I have escaped two stampedes. (the first one by climbing a tree, the second by diving through the gaps of a elcetric barbwire fence), my cousin dared me to slap Lightning in the haunch while he was alseep and escape (turns out Lightning was in solitary because he killed other stallions), I have been thrown down a flight of stairs, shocked by a socket, thrown by a horse who stepped on a socket and got zapped, I have been hit by a car twice and been round house kicked in the face at the school dance. Despite all this I have only have had one broken bone, my pinky. I broke that becuase I shrugged my shoulders and my pinky got caught in my belt loop and snapped.

Overall I think it is rather ridiculous, and my family and friends think I am one of the klumsiest people still alive. The question I always had was "am I unlucky for all this to happen, or am I very lcuky not to be dead yet?" I have no clue, so I guess you could decide. Is the glass half-empty or half-full?