Friday, May 15, 2009


How can I hold this heavy head high 
if its hailing boulders? 
Weaving through a lightning storm 
doesn't seem like some game, 
but that is what you are... 
a game... 
a tricky game where you are always the winner. 
You hold the throne to determine the weather 
and on your call the wind will blow 
as you sit and watch the houses fall to pieces. 
If life is your disagreement 
then words will be hidden behind rhymes 
for the simple hope that your enemy will translate it into critisizm 
dropping the world off of your shoulders. 
The poets of the world are all guilty as charged. 
But if you assume that the sun will come out... 
one day, it may, 
but thats not until we do the rain dance 
to make it want to shine.

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