Thanks for the positive feedback.

Thanks a bunch.

Bah, you're*, I hate typos.

i'd give you the shirt off my back
if i didn't wear my heart on my sleeve
if i wasn't so naive, i'd believe you
i'd take your watch if you took my time
if time was money,
then you bought everything from me.

i was left without a penny or a thought
i'd think better of you if you had kept the change
but trading paper is commonplace today
we work hard for it just to give it away
remember when we traded baseball cards?
the lemonade stand and the pricewars on each corner
comic book stores and the toys we saved all year for.
it's all been sold. we've all grown older.

the rootbeer floats all sunk to the bottom
they ran out of my favorite flavor of gum
little johnny traded his wooden rifle for a gun
blood covered my shiny new red flyer wagon
inflation deflated the dreams of the young.

garage sales were a nostalgic wasteland
you drive a hard bargain, said the old man
you see, it was classic supply and demand
but their parent's just didnt understand
theres nothing you can do to relive it?
damn!

politics is where the heart is
and home is just where another voter lives
you're kids are unregistered, unfathered; senator.
which is more important? four more years in service
or four more years with a growing dissapointment?
broken promises or broken baseball bats?
witnessing a grand slam or testifying to a grand jury?
hot dogs and a trip to the local library,
or hot sex at the office with the company's secretary?

mother said to wash my mouth out with soap
and when i finished i used the box to stand on and talk
with an insecure tone i told everyone how i felt alone
in a crowded world, in a corner, in my room, on my own
mother said to "just wait until your father gets home"

telephones to television to telemarketing
we watch and listen as the world spins
we stand motionless even without the E.
if nothing is free how can love be priceless?
if money doesnt grow on trees
what is that green leaf your selling?

your words were forced when you said
"World, you can't take my innocents"
i said, if i had a nickle and dime
for everytime you said that
id have fifteen damn cents.

As I stand among the whispering tree's
Stare un-seeing at the fallen leaves
Your voice echoes from so long before
Before life closed you outside it's door

Your words " it's only a bit of puff, i'll stop when i've had enough."

The leaves they rustle with the sound
Of raining leaves upon the ground

You said " Mom it's just a bit of weed."
Then soon followed a bit of speed

Dont worry I can quit anytime
Back then believing every line

Too late you felt the needle push
Seduced again by a sudden rush

One day you knew it all to late
The devils quest had sealed your fate

" I love you," I shouted to un-hearing tree's
" I miss you," the words are lost on a frozen breeze

In this place seeking solace where there's none to be found
Just your memories scattered with the leaves on the ground

Ask yourself this as your life starts to drain
Was it worth losin' Love for the rush and the pain

Haha..thanks for the welcomes.

Eh, drama.

come peek upon this sight, where sin impeaches on a blight
and the stench of smoke and alchohol seeps out on the night

from the windows, curses float and loud whistles ring
the dark night is nearly silent except the crickets sing
inside Billy was loud, all grins as he's slamming a gin
catches the eye of the bar-tender and puts his hand up again
"havent you had enough?" the tender says to be handling him
but he just grins jovially saying "ahh would ya can it?" again
the panoramas pretend, soon the fun for the mans at an end
and its back to his home, to the heart of the drama again
stands up grandly and then...
waves his hands to his friends, nodding to the proprieter
sighing for...he's goin home to his wife, a regular rioter
he's oft surprised by her, and wonders what shes lyin for
seems when he's trying not to fight, she's always tryin more
not cryin more, he vows to work through mistakes for his boy
he didn't want his son growin up feeling misplaced with no joy
catches a cab, and the ride to his rancher passes in a blur
rackin up the nerves, going over words he's practicing for her
dispells his lack of normal nerve as wheels lap up on the curb
and whispers to himself, "i wont put another act upon for her"
for a moment the crickets hushed as the yellow one zoomed
then a moment of silence...and thier song had resumed
opening the front door, he feels stuffy as a chest cold
a shiver takes his flesh hold as he crosses the threshold
airs cold as a round of his beers...shes bound to be here
lays a hand on the doorknob as the blood pounds in his ears
the door creaks open, and his entire earth is destroyed
there's another man with his wife who'd given birth to his boy
drags the man out of bed, pinning him to the wall by his air tube

screaming "how dare you? how dare you!? HOW GOD DAMN DARE YOU!"

fingers clenching in, his wife tried to plead some sense in him
but he had never been a necromancer...and she was dead to him
the man pushed, but Bill was the stronger one, no longer drunk
Bill vowed to squeeze his throat until his heart no longer pumped
crushed with all his might, hoping for the Co2 to sever his lungs
then a cry pierced the darkness...and Bill remembered his son
his wife sobbed pitifully on the floor, more or less compusure gone
wipin his eyes he asked what the hell is wrong with both of them
with no response coming, he walked out of the sorrow-filled room
his one and only meagre hope left was that tommorrow comes soon
found his son, and hugged the only one still devout in his life
walked out on his wife without a shadow of a doubt it was right

....the crickets greeted him loudly as he stepped out in the night

Yeah.. just sharing some of my past poems. They might seem odd at first, but I'm sure the reader will get the hang of it. This one was inspired by an art piece I saw on a wall here in town.. done by the method of Grafitti. It had to do with hip hop..so..enjoy.

If walls could talk...they'd fall def to the unconscious ear.

Check...
Etched in brick by cans of aerosol,
Like hieroglyphs on Pharaohs wall,
Varied scrawls, down narrow halls,
Cryptic names as to not bare it all,
A raw art form that stays changing,
It's like modern day cave painting,
Maintaining, if artists stay sprayin',
With that can rattle name staining,
Vandals tangle in the train station,
Over laying until the paints fading,
Tags tagged to tag it as their own,
New jack antagonists have grown,
"Tag a long" & vandal up ya home,
Like a game of tag…tag line "5-0!"
Then cats scramble from the zone,
Nothing is off limits or hard to top,
Pop a marker top & mark the spot,
Apartment lobbies, to parking lots,
As critics criticize: if it's art or not,
Figurative meaning, literal essence,
Blind to reason by visual sentence,
By the means of political message,
Riddled through literature method,
& if you followed Hip-hop since 81,
Rap's like our talk & native tongue,
The DJ becomes our ancient drum,
& our tribal dance be breakin' son!
Kick knowledge that weighs a ton,
So to Hip-hop, if you're intelligent,
That's 3/4ths of its core elements,
Graffiti contrast by forth evidence,
Is written word therefore relevant,
But yo, they ain't seein' it straight,
They see buildings, being defaced,
See vandalism & reasons for hate,
I just see ratings for medias sake,
If walls could talk, graffiti debates,
Through hue, color & clever tones,
The rhythm, of inner metronomes,
Or your heart as it's better known,
Hip-hops Mecca; I'm headin' home,
Interpreted through Rosetta stone,
& let alone…you need reassessing,
Mind revolution of free expression,
Remind those who keep forgetting,
**** answers ya need to question,
In these seeds that we embedding,
From the streets & graffiti settings,
But still…you don't see me fretting,
Cause these walls are talking clear,
Sometimes ya gotta watch to hear,
Def to the unconscious ear,
It was written...

"HIP-HOP WAS HERE"

Humanities choices be sacrilegious,
Under the guise that we act religious,
Sins add, as we count cash in digits,
Interpret the beliefs that God meant,
With no consent from the conscience,
In the strong sense...psalms quench;
Mental thirst, & our life atrocities,
While seeking the right philosophy,
But quite possibly; we sinning God,
From the Taj Mahal to the synagogue,
We enter fog, which clouds thoughts,
See Turin where Jesus's shroud rots,
We're down talked, as hounds plot;
To build cult herds...with false words,
In pews I hear priests tell the gospel,
Preaching tales of the twelve apostles,
Caught up in their passioned plea,
They're askin me, Is life blasphemy?
I pondered lastingly, & puzzled it,
The conclusion; reality was a gift,
But if so...then what becomes of it?
Raisin answers that raise skepticism,
For if we die, then whats left to livin?
They covet the grail & kept it hidden,
Battling our demons like an exorcism,
Act like cash is life, we casting dice,
So I ask him twice for my sacrifice,
Failing to see words that he beckons,
As we covet all our earthly possesions,
Face obstacles & challenges testin' me,
Put faith in fate, then manifest destiny...

Just another crazy Texan here to join in on the fun.