Battered Old Blank Pages

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Battered old blank pages
Waiting to be smeared by ink
Disheveled by passing time
Often fraught with more than we think
Crisp white canvas no more
Absorbing life as a passerby
So pause before you type
A silent witness to these lies

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These Pages Hide Secrets

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These pages hide secrets
Our souls buried deep down
Merely spread ink upon the white
Without expectation of any renown
Stay humble & true to your soul
Let your honest heart be your guide
Close your eyes & forget the masses
For clarity is needed; wrapped by our side

I See Your Gears Turning

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I see your gears turning
A scratch pad of juggled notes
My sassy blonde with such style
Throwing looks back, caught my throat
Lingering over the page
Like something I’m not sure of
Thoughts dripping into melting ice
Nothing as comfortable as confident love

Drinking Out Of The Good Crystal

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Drinking out of the good crystal
Pouring another glass of Scotch
I’m not going to waste this life
I’m not going to stand by & watch
I want to get my hands dirty
Experience should be more than a page
I’m not going to live by proxy
I’m going die a virile man in my old age

These Pages Are My Refuge

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These pages are my refuge
The simplest often seem best
I cannot hide my heart
I will not keep it close to the vest
These words are my soul
I will not hide them behind a mask
I will not conform to society
No matter how many times they might ask

Staring Into A Blank Page

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Staring into a blank page
Where can we take this from here
Will you support an unattractive soul
Will I always find friends of good cheer
I question the future as if it weren’t sold
Please tell me we still have a chance to be free
I type out thoughts that you might never know
But throughout time & space, you’ve meant more to me

I’m Pounding These Keys

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I’m pounding these keys

Trying to create a landmark

Something to last through time

A rhyme to set off a sudden spark

I’m vain in ways I won’t admit

A schedule of words upon the page

Formulas/equations for me to disconnect

Memories for after I’ve withered into age

The Man Has You Grinding Away

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The man has you grinding away
The organ makes the monkey dance
You’re looking for the Promised Land
But you never really had the chance
You’re writing your soul on the page
Friends support & love all they heard
But the critics cry foul & laugh bitterly
You’re only as good as your last word