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HERE LIES MY WORDS FOR ALL TO SEE
Disclaimer:
Included here are some of my works of poetry and song lyrics that I've written. Enjoy them. Or don't. It really doesn't matter to me. If any of them offends anyone, tough shit.
No one is making you read these. It's your choice. See my rants page for more info on my writings.
INTRO
We strive, we try to thrive
Against the grain, flow we ever on.
Never going, never seeing,
The endless procession.
We cry,
We cry for those gone before.
We turn our backs and journey ever on.
Memories fade, countless lay claim
To forget our past, and the future is uncertain.
Someone locks the gates behind us.
There is no turning back.
The keys are lost forever.
The weaker still must fall.
It’s a shame it has to end this way
When no one left remembers the beginning.
LAST NIGHT I DREAMT OF MY DEMISE
There’s so many things left to say
It wasn’t meant to end this way.
It’s all the things I put off until today.
It’s the ending of the best affair,
And it’s not because I didn’t care,
Change my fate, I wouldn’t dare,
It wasn’t meant to end this way.
CHORUS:
But last night I dreamt of my demise.
Last night I dreamt of my demise.
It’s no good to wallow in self-pity,
My time has come and that’s the way it is.
There’s so much for me to do,
I beg for one more chance to see it through.
All I ever wanted was a little more time
To make up for all my little lies. . . .
But last night I dreamt of my demise. . . .
I never really wanted to say farewell
I never wanted to make your life a living hell.
But in the distance I hear the tolling bell.
It’s too late now, but I now can see.
That all the time you were right here, next to me.
I want to hold you in my arms, but now it’ll never be.
Oh God! It wasn’t meant to end this way.
POETRY
FENS OF THE DEAD, PART 1.
Under the full moon,
In the bleakest hour of the night,
Through the fields of strewn lotus blossoms,
Across the stagnant pools,
Lie the Fens of the Dead,
Where lie the bodies of the warriors
Who fell dead in the government’s war
And decay to become one with the Earth Mother.
I have waited my whole life to search for you,
My only friend, my lost brother.
You who went with honor
Into the government’s war.
I wanted to wait like you wished me to,
Wait until we were again united
In God’s Eternal Heaven,
But I was only a boy when the promise was made.
Then, the full moon shone on me
On the night I attained Manhood.
And therein I made a new promise;
A promise to see you one more time.
I need to tell you that the clouds are gone
And the tides receded.
For now, the sun shines.
I want you to see my betrothed.
See her smile that could bring joy,
Even to a dread place (like the Fens).
But alas, you lie in wait,
While decay makes you one with the Earth Mother
Who loves you, and whom you loved more than life.
The moon, now in it’s waning crescent,
Promised to show me the way
To the Fens of the Dead.
And, though the moon is capricious,
I think it did not lie.
But just in case,
I also spoke to the North Star,
And plead my case to him.
He promised to guide me back
And you know as I do
That stars cannot lie
For the dead speak only truth
For lies are inventions of the living.
And they have past on to be with God.
But the stars still speak to those who dream
And they feel pity for those
Who seek things lost.
I know I have to search for you
For three times I have dreamt
Of your resting place.
Three times I dreamt my way past the Guardians
Who protect you from your enemies.
And three times I spoke to the Gatekeeper,
But dreams can only go so far,
For they are forbidden in the Fens,
For they remind the dead
Of their aspirations.
Each time I wept for you,
For I was denied solace,
Even in my dreams.
My betrothed holds me in her arms.
She fears I will never return
But she also knows my mind.
And knows I can’t be deterred from my course.
I feel I must see you again,
My only friend, my lost brother.
For my memories of you fade
As each day I grow older.
And should the clouds
Again cover the skies,
And the tides come forth,
I’ll know we shouldn’t fear.
I’ll then know your soul protects us,
From up on high in God’s Eternal Heaven.
It’s said that in the Fens of the Dead
Lie the bodies of the fallen warriors
That wait for loved ones to set them free.
IMAGINATION BLEEDS REALITY
Like Saint Christopher,
I feel I don’t really exist.
But, I sometimes can feel
You listening to my fears.
And every once and a while,
I just know you look at me
With your majestic eyes.
And other times,
In the darkest hours
Before the dawn,
I sense you lying next to me.
Like Saint Christopher,
I have been accused of not being real.
And sometimes I feel like only
A figment of your imagination.
The world is a bitter place,
Full of torment and anguish,
And my attempts to change it
Seem like an act of futility.
But sometimes, every once and a while,
I have seen laughter,
Just as I know you have.
So, in that sense, I suppose I may be real,
Not just a fictional being in reality.
But who can say what feelings are real?
And what is a story (like St. Christopher)?
You know that meaning is lost
For you cannot know my mind.
I suspect that I exist,
if only for a fleeting moment
In the story of your life.
But for now I’m here,
So let’s make the most of it.
For, like Saint Christopher,
I may be gone at any moment
And my deeds, both real and imagined,
May be left only in a child’s story
Told before bedtime.
Left as only the patron saint of dreamers
And guide to nocturnal travels.
A QUESTION OF HATRED
You follow so blindly
Never questioning why.
Everything is taken at face value
Based on an empty slogan.
Everything is told to you
From birth, through life, to death.
Never thinking on your own.
Biased, segretory salvation you final goal.
You weep as you condemn me.
But I see your falsehood smile.
You set yourself above all,
Through outdated traditions and rules.
You choose your elite, forsaking all others
Unless they follow your creed.
Condemn, condemn the world.
Genocide.
Your pocket universe is the only good.
You name all else evil,
Without learning the other side.
You damn yourself with your own convictions,
You hold our heads under your baptismal water.
Purifying yourself, drowning all others.
How can you empty your conscience so?
BACK HOME
Alone on the hill top
Where only God
Pays attention anymore
The house stands.
It’s paint peeling off.
Windows cracked and
Wall covered in graffiti.
Stagnant pools of black water
Lay in the yard.
The lawn is over a foot long
Off towards the gate,
That’s been rusted shut for years now.
Already the shadows grow long.
Night comes sneaking in
Like a predator.
If a house could cry
I wonder if it would,
For tomorrow the bulldozers come,
Their blades anxious for destruction.
SOMETIMES OUR GREATEST SIN. . .
Sometimes our greatest sin is just living.
No matter what we do,
No matter where we go,
Things just turn out wrong.
When we die, we all just want to be remembered.
Hopefully fondly, maybe with a little bit of love.
A broken heart, the one true love
That just got away:
These are the things that make life worth living.
When I dream, it seems she’s always there.
Her face, her smile, that sparkle in her eyes,
I never want to wake up
Mostly because I know you’re not there.
Sometimes our greatest sin is just to live. . .
SOMETIMES ANGELS FALL
I can see her angel’s divinity.
She laughs away the darkness.
I, in black, shy away for now.
Although there was something between us,
I don’t know your name.
Maybe I never really wanted to.
Your purity shines too brightly,
It almost looks false.
Maybe I’m imagining the whole thing,
It wouldn’t be the first time.
She looks at me with a questioning gaze,
But I ignore it and look on by.
She makes as if to say something,
A scream? A whisper? A salutation?
Maybe to blow me a kiss goodbye.
I can see her angel’s divinity.
Her perfect form, her dancing way,
Her smile of merriment, her eyes aflame.
She doesn’t look at me anymore,
For I, dressed in black
Have faded into the shadows. . .
Sometimes angels fall
And want to gaze back on Heaven
For their memories are kept fresh,
As if to remind them what they lost. . .
Paradise.
THE LIGHTHOUSE KEEPER
For three generations an O’Malley
Has taken care of the Stormwatch Lighthouse.
A weather beaten ol’ thing
Off the coast of Maine
Near the Canadian border.
"As long as I kin ‘member
I looked at the da sea.
At first it would only pass the time,
And speak of little things
Such as the calm shorelines
And forgotten storms.
But mebe even the sea gits lonely.
It got friendlier as time wore on.
It told me tings I never known.
Heh, heh, imagine dat,
The sea talkin’ to an old salt like me!
But talk it did"
Long hours they’ve sat
And stared with such an intensity
At the waves crashing on the rocks below.
Through every storm,
They kept that light on.
Saving countless ships,
Countless lives.
Now the grand tradition falls to Gregory
Formerly of Her Majesty’s Navy.
"Yeh, the sea talked to me.
Whether green. grey, white or black,
I’ll tell ya, da sea ain’t never quiet.
It’ll tell ya lots, if’in only ya listen."
Every summer we’d visit ol’ Greg
And he’d tell us the same thing.
"One day the waters’ll come to claim me,
And ya know I long for that day.
Ya know the sea’s a harsh mistr’ss,
an’ soon’r o lader she’ll be a comin’ for me."
We'd all laugh and tell him
That he’ll be around forever,
And he smiles that patronizing smile
And laugh at us under his breath
Thinking us naïve.
He’d do on to tell us
That death rides in front
of a storm on a white ship
That’s unlike the yachts
and schooners he’d see every day.
And when you’d see it,
The waters would come crashing round you
As the ocean goddess claimed you
for her own.
When questioned how
This knowledge came to him,
He'd just say, "One knows da sea.
Me friends, one knows da sea."
And so he sits, watching the water.
Waiting for his white ship to come.
Sixty of his eighty-five years have been spent
There in the lighthouse.
That solitary soldier
Upon the hilltop.
Its light salutes each passing ship
Like they were its superior officers.
