Of Quality: The Writer's Dilemma

What's the point 
When all that's asked
Are memories
Of days gone past?
This isn't why
The poet writes;
He writes for, rightly,
What is right.
But play the puppet
One frame more
And give a show
Of which they're sure.
These empty words
Will over soon,
And you can live
A writer's ru'n. 

Or…

Maybe falsehoods

Written down

Are no more real

Than playing clown 

To entertain 

The enter'd few

That care enough

To hear from you. 

The only point 

To write that song

Is for them all 

To sing along.

We only ask for

Eyes and ears;

They justify,

Or death, we fear.

A First World Problem

Surround sound and polished waves

Keep reality from the crazy raving

Fantasy that we all fall for;

Us white sheep herded through the doors

Into a promised neverland

Where hope and love could never land

For fear of pop contaminants.

Such is the life us blessed are in.

Virtulove?

Do I trust in a world of sin
that love can be a happening?
I once placed hope beyond the screen
and ended up with ev’rything
that I cared for and I hoped for lost,
with dreams that forced to turn and toss.
I vowed to push lust to a place
and with it, that same screen away.
Now, in days where I can feel
that I am free of sin and devil,
in days where I feel I have won,
I see that same screen once again.
I do not think it is the same,
but there is yet no simple way
for innocence to recognise 
the diff’rence ‘tween two sets of eyes.
Can one set truly be those eyes
which I have yearned for, day and night?
Do I trust in a world of sin
that love can be a happening?

Sonnet of Hope

I pace among the masses while my legs keep me from home,

and a cloud of grey descends on a brok'n mans shoulders. 

It's not oft that I am left here standing on my own,

with haunting dreams of 'wish I could have' soldiers. 

Wish I could, wish I may, wish it would have bin;

wishing that these dreams of mine were gone. 

But that is not reality, a world I could have seen,

that is not the truth of my own bones. 

I am a brok'n man with a grey and heavy cloud

resting on my brok'n, nothing soul. 

And the grey gives truths I know a blanket of doubt,

endless dreams with ever-reaching goals. 

But in that cloud of grey, there will always be some light,

as true as stars will always light the hopelessness of night.

Sentimental

The waves between two foreign lands

Halt destined love from coming to,

But on those shores where lovers stand

Are hearts that beat with purpose and truth.

For now, they wait with bated breath

Until horizons disappear;

They’d hope for love until their death

When free souls could, at last, be near.

Such a heart is hell to find,

For true love is a miracle,

But when the heart does truly find

Such never, then forever’s real.

    Let men claim heaven is fantasy;

    They’ve never felt what I have seen.

A Smaller Picture of Bigger Things

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

But flowers are nothing

In the sight of you.

They say that absence

Softens the heart,

But never again

Will we be apart;

For the thought of your loss

In this world of ours

Is enough to turn sweetest

Of moments sour.

This is the plight

Of the common at home,

What the warrior fights for

When he is gone…

Wulf Young's Love

The waves play tag

As they criss-cross by;

A misplaced day

For a playful tide. 

A rainbow spouts

In the distant sea, 

But as moments pass

The rainbow flees

Beyond the silent

Volcanic giant,

Who watches tides

Fall and rise and 

Playing tag

On a winter's day. 

Volcanos, waves 

And rainbows play.

Almost Princess

My mind is clear,

Or at least enough to know

That today's hope of sun

Is tomorrow's promise of snow. 

But I need a hand

To reach out to me,

Even if it's a hand

Only I see. 

Because all that I'll love

Will be memories soon,

A moment faster than

Timeless noon. 

For now, she is my hope,

She is my dream

Until she is all or

Gone for reality. 

Leading Words

Formation of nations,
The waging of wars,
The world's nov'l narration
Or the artist's score.
The power of harm'ny
To lift a lost life,
Or power of hatred
That twists like a knife.
They made what we became,
Made us who we are.
Our lives, on them we blame.
On them, our lives craft.
    They are our gods, moments be damned.
    They lead us, hell-bound, by the hand.

Dream for Immortality

Perfection lying at your side,
With gold and green in ev'ry move;
To live the moment you're alive
And never any moment lose.
To have the body of a God
And live with immortality;
The world is yours, so come, take hold
And live without humility.
You are as young as in your dreams.
And thus, where failure waits for you,
For you are only just a gleam
Of light that through the world goes through.
   The man who has but a thousand dreams
   Will never achieve anything

Rats and Rainbows

This world is full of wonder,

Extr'ordinary things,

Resounding booms of thunder

And streams of white light'ning.

They shout, "Can you deny

The presence of your God?!"

But in my own flawed mind,

By Nature I am awed.

A name brings prejudice

To ev'ry mind of man.

Forget the words, the benefits 

Will halt you where you stand.

The rainbow'd is the brother to the rats of the sky.

Stop reading, turn around, see the beauty in your sight.

The Hunted King of Death

He paves the concrete red
And yet his hands are clean;
The children hurt or dead,
Forgotten for the green.
Unnecessary pain
For unnecessary gain,
But he just hides the stain
Of where the children lay.
This is cowardice
Of the most pathetic kind;
To destroy a wealth of promise?
He cannot be so blind.
He hides like a hunter behind his slew of guns,
But as the guilty hunted, he will always run.

The Music In My Blood

There's no songs for now

and I'm not a fool;

I know this time

will leave me soon. 

I know these feelings,

yet again,

will cease and leave me. 

I won't pretend

that this is right

and I don't know. 

I know the way that

my heart flows, 

but if distraction

keeps me sane, 

then bring perfection;

come once again.