Monday, March 14, 2011

Self Appraisal.

Look at me,
I'm an ordinary man.
Doing something,
That anybody can.

Weaving words,
And hoping to find a way.
To get people to read,
And think of what I say.

We're no different,
You and me.
Or that vagabond,
Walking down the street.

A billion people,
A billion different dreams.
Living within,
And way beyond our means.

What sets me apart,
Is the choices that I make.
The risks that I,
Will or will not take.

The sweet love,
That someone will soon know.
The broken heart,
And the words that follow.

We all bleed red,
If you cut any color of skin.
We're all the same,
What we are, lies within.

But tell me this,
Are you like me or am I like you?
What's different,
In the things that we do?

If we're all the same,
Then why should I even try.
Like we all live,
Some day we will soon die.

We walk alone,
But we never truly are.
You may feel bad,
But others have seen worse by far.

So stop thinking,
That you stand above the rest.
They're all trying,
It's all an imaginary test.

So step back,
From the varied silent crowd.
Hear my voice,
It may not be that loud.

What I say,
Applies to everyone.
Have some patience,
Your time has just begun.

Look at you,
You're an ordinary man.
Someone else is the same,
You're not the only one who can.

Look at me,
I'm an ordinary man.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Words.

My voice has left me,
My words are long gone.
It seems like yesterday,
But what I write now, seems wrong.

I used to sing praises,
And write about the good.
Notice what was missed,
Understand what was overlooked.
My heart seems weaker,
Every day that it beats.
My head seems heavier,
With every line that it thinks.

Broken glass would inspire,
Remind me of once complete things.
Each moment would aspire,
To write of greater beings.
My rhyme is forgotten,
What I write I do not know.
Something is missing inside,
And my words refuse to show.

My voice has left me,
My words are long gone.
It seems like yesterday,
But what I write now, seems wrong.

I could dream of splendid days,
Made of beautiful things.
I could create a harmony,
Yet now I cannot sing.
The days now drag on,
Those times was what I lived for.
But I’m dreading tomorrow today,
There’s nothing new to be found.

I want my inspiration,
I want my dedication.
I want all that’s gone,
I want all that I’ve never known.
To feel the joy of something new,
These days the moments are few.
I struggle with words for now,
Where is my mind lost?

Someone give me my voice,
Fill up this silent noise.
Give me comfort,
Let me write again.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Stoner Mongering.

Somewhere, somehow, someone believes that what they write on a virtual plane will be heard. Everywhere.

We all believe we're echoing some kind of super-conscious that resonates and lets us connect, and that my words will spread like wildfire and bring about the change that I hope and dream.

A foolish hope.

A stupid belief.

Doesn't stop me from trying again and again. Like this failed attempt despite it all.

I'm not sure yet if I'm making any sense. English don't fail me now...

Ah well. I'm stoned.