We Used To Know The Truths

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We used to know the truths
The fundamentals of our lives
Misplaced inspiration in youth
We, the lost children, who survived
Abandoned by artists searching for gold
Forgetting the dream of accepting yourself
Never admitting we’ve grown this old
Rejection of impending imperial wealth
Fuck your Republicans & Democrats
Those who sold the vision with betrayal
Insensitive bastards of the Cheshire Cat
Unsteady appeasement & divided we fail

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Drinking The Spilled Ink

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Drinking the spilled ink

Anything for a touch of inspiration

The metal nib scratches the paper

Leaving behind unused insinuation

Touting such triumphs to the Heavens

Coming to these waters to galvanize

Words reign down with invigoration

& finally finding absolution within thine eyes

Hanging With Suspicious Writers

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Hanging with suspicious writers

An overly socialized troop

Collectively creating

An emotionally battered group

Pondering word placement

& the value of existence

The quiet utility of thought

Inspiration compounding persistence

I Do My Best To Be A Gentleman Writer

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I do my best to be a gentleman writer
At least to the extent that I portray
Scratching out all the love in my soul
But secrets linger in what I don’t say
Crawling deep into my distant dreams
I discover myself in a bawdy knave’s pose
Living this life in passion’s sacrifice
A wasteland, but a thriving ice blue rose
Falling back to reality in a tremendous jolt
Searching to gather notes of inspiration
I need a pen to create an enduring legacy
With immortal words I can defy expiration

Another Day Of Cold Coffee & Inspirational Songs

Another day of cold coffee & inspirational songs
I’m trying to survive with all my might
I’m not looking to be acceptable
Merely wishing to cherish what’s in my sight
Ink smudges quietly upon my palms
Unsure of my words, failing with adequate prose
Years fall into decades, but still
I’m flailing; conjuring an incomplete rose
The muse sits rocking, mocking
She struts out of reach of what I believe
Taunting me to sell my soul in angst
So I cover my typewriter in a sheet of Celtic weave

Over The Soft Meadows

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Over the soft meadows
Dancing in a sun dress
Love amongst the wildflowers
A simple life, but I digress
Spirited away by a charming Prince
With promises of a jeweled crown
She chose aspiration over inspiration
Weighed down, lost, she drowned

Where Do We Keep Our Secrets

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Where do we keep our secrets
The ones we can never use
Buried beneath lost hopes
But you can’t choose your muse
The beautiful bleeding hearts
Or scantily-clad ladies; so demure
Inspiration reigning down upon us
Souls perform best when the soul is pure