What the Fuck Am I Talking About?

How much time do you have,
To become who you want?
I will tell you what, I know in my life, That thought forever haunts,

To feel we've got it right?
In truth, if you haven't gotten there yet,
I recommend that you call it a night,

Not that you've done any better than me,
god knows that I have tried,
Or have I? TBH I've never focused,
For long stretches of time,

Unless you count,
The years of faith I've held,
That all I've produced will one day break through,
Like an old sycamore that has been felled.

Falling Down

Climbing out of a hole,
Is like being depressed,
Not to diminish one to the other,
One's much more ambitious,

One makes you feel tired for diff'rent reasons,
One can't be successful,
Looking around everywhere that you go,
Whether or not you can get an eyeful,

One time I didn't think I would get out,
The exit, oh, so near,
That's the luck one can have all of the time,
Only a few, I fear.

Could you be one?
Well, only time will tell,
'less you can take one moment at a time,
Then time will have a snowball's chance in hell.

It's Not Arrogant If It's Just My Thoughts

If this doesn't do it,
It will ne'er be my time,
Of course, as I say that I know it's false,
Or at least it's a lie,

'Cause if I knew what happened tomorrow,
I'd not be writing this,
Though, maybe I'd learn I can only do,
What in my heart I know brings my true bliss,

And that it will take care of me one day,
Though I am no seer,
But in which I've such faith I do not lie,
When I say that it's near,

For the future's
Never without a past,
E'n on my death bed I'll probably say,
I'll soon get my recognition at last.

Keep The Faith

Just chase what you want to,
Forget everything else,
Love, success, respect, and pursuit of truth,
Will not protect your self,

They were meant to thrive when you are least safe,
A vanguard with no shield,
Except for a foolish faith in your path,
Knowing it is riddled with pits concealed,

That if fallen into become new paths,
If you maintain your faith,
That there is neither above or below,
Within this human race,

Nor win or lose,
So long as it's a chase,
With no intention of catching your prey,
Once you've killed you end up back in last place.

To Be Trite...

I just heard a podcast,
'bout poet George Hebert,
His poems, latin/english, were heartfelt,
Based on what I had heard,

Like love posed as a synonym for god,
Served to us in three ways,
At death, at the last supper, at a bar,
Open your heart to be blessed for all days,

Born into a family with ten kids,
A father who died young,
A mother who raised them against all odds,
To be educated and clothed in song,

George went on to become an orator,
Stricken by consumption,
Though he wrote an impressive tome of work,
Like his dad, he died young,

Why shouldn't he?
Why not any of us?
It's trite to note that we'll all one day die,
While it's also extremely momentous.

So The Fifty-First Begins

Fifty years have passed, now,
Who of you can say that?
Surely I have earned the right tell you,
How to think and to act.

For we're thrust into the world knowing naught,
How else is wisdom gained,
But by the experiences of life,
The trials and obstacles overcame?

Now, I know nothing about your journey,
My shoes may not fit you,
And fifty years, in the grand scheme of things,
Is practically new,

So never mind,
Your business is your own,
Live and let live, is the advice I give,
All I request is to be left alone.

This Is Therapy

Why do I feel guilty,
For thinking of myself,
By altering the course of my conscious,
Compromising my health,

Wasting my time writing shit like this here,
(I don't really think that),
Or rather, that depends on what's valued,
Not able to help if a loved one's sad?

That last one, though,'s a little misleading,
No one's ever ready,
To rescue someone that they care about,
May that I never see!

But let me free,
That's all I ever want,
Sometimes I forget what it is all for,
Then I feel guilty, then I write a Wath.