We are but stardust mixed with a magical spark,

an etherial energy that never dies.

While I don't know where you've gone,

I know that you're still alive.

As I sit and watch the sunset,

I'm glad that you are home.

I just wish that it was with us...

in case you didn't know.

I'm sure we will meet again, somewhere in the beyond.

We will hug, and we will laugh...

Pick up, right where we left off.

For now, I must say "til we meet again"

but your memory will not be lost.

My story here continues,

And somehow, it must go on.

I will see you in the sunlight,

the sparkle of your eyes in the stars...

I will be reminded of your virtuousness,

whenever I feel true love around.

"Til we meet again, my friend."

While I can,

I will give you my all,

My attention.

My time.

My love.

I will do my best to teach you

How to be a good man...

Someone you can be proud of.

I will never leave you behind...

I will always come home...

But when my time comes,

As it inevitably will,

I still have one promise to keep.

I will find a bench in heaven.

Somewhere outside the Pearly Gates,

And I will watch...

I hope to see you watch your children grow.

I hope to see you smile, more than frown.

I hope to see you give good to the world,

And experience a love that never dies...

And when your time comes.

And we can be together again.

It will be I that comes to take your hand...

As I did when you were young...

And I will bring you with me once again...

The biker deep,

I believe I be.

But I understand,

That's not what's seen.

Criminal contempt,

So says their eyes.

Dedicated academic,

Doesn't cross their minds.

Gentlemanly ways,

Are my nature.

Cynical ass,

Preferred nomenclature.

Tattooed and bald,

Is the public view.

Philosophical thoughts,

Internally brew.

Morbidly agnostic,

Meant for hell.

Amazed religion,

Still does so well.

Battered and broken,

Not bourgeoisie.

A molded mind,

Ranks above Marquis.

Childhood lost,

To a teenagers hand.

Lessons learned,

A better man.

Self loathing,

In every instance.

Uncontrollably forgetful,

Emotionally distant.

Shots of bourbon,

Await epiphany.

Versed vocabulary,

Poetry ain't easy.

As twilight fades to darkness,

And the moon begins to glow,

I start to ponder the sure things

That I'm not so sure of anymore.

My questions send me wandering

The catacombs of my cluttered mind.

I again obsess over the wastefulness,

Of the gifts I've long held confined.

The crickets chirping in the bushes,

And the frogs singing in the trees,

Don't have the effect I was hoping,

My heart feels blackened with disease.

The firelight feeds this frenzy.

Paranoia creeps in the back door.

The fiends troll in the shadows...

I know exactly what they have in store.

As my inner demons rise again,

Tearing holes throughout my core,

My mental panic increases the manic

And I collapse on the forest floor.

They fill me with false promises,

Prophesize a future of blood and gore.

Ears deluged with the horrific screams,

Possible victims my heart can't ignore.

The agony forces my eyes open,

I'm stunned by the calm stars above.

If only through their emotional absence,

My tormented soul could be absolved.

My body contorts and spasms,

As the fiends power is restored,

The flood of my own wretchedness

Is almost more than I can endure.

They torture me with awful rhythms,

My nerve endings played as cords.

An agonizing internal orchestra

Practiced by unsympathetic hordes.

Again the darkness threatens to take me,

And steal the little that is still pure.

But the hounds of hell can bring no pain

My own mind hasn't brought before.

This realization is my reinforcement.

I recognize the horror from which I came.

I now see where I should be going,

And question if I am still to blame.

I don the face of the card man,

Removing the reads they so enjoy,

My mental monsters don't miss a beat,

Still seeking, and hoping to destroy.

I feel a power I've never known,

A pin prick of something more,

I am in control of my own destiny,

I don't answer to the demons anymore.

Their gleeful howls echo in my mind,

The wolves have captured their prey?

With instinct and razors they converge.

But this time, it is I, that they will obey.

From the broken bones and ashes,

The once fragile boy now purged.

Scars have become his armor,

A man ready to face his scourge.

As a child I believed the lies,

When they told me my future was mine.

What I did was for me to decide,

But being a fool I missed the signs.

I struggled to follow the rules,

Crossed the t's, dotted the i's;

My reward?

"would you like fries"?

Our grand dreams of childhood,

Are fizzling cinders and smoke.

We did as they said we should,

And finally were let in on the joke.

They knew what was coming,

But hid the scars of their yokes.

Our reality?

Double your salary slingin' dope.

How can we ever thank them,

For shackling us in these

chains?

Shall we present them a diadem,

As we're allowed to dig our early graves?

For complexion and education

No longer and distinguish the slave.

What now?

Pick a god and hope we're saved?

We cannot change the past,

Amnesty won't alter the future,

The current condition cannot last.

These wounds cannot be sutured.

What we choose must be as one,

Our collective voice, too long muted.

Our choices?

Revolt, or remain passively neutered.

I was only six when I began.

My mother' warm tears,

Falling upon my face when

she believed I was asleep.

Her loving hand rubbing my back,

Praying for her imaginary friend

To take away her child's pain.

The knowledge that I was breaking her heart.

This is what drove me to perfect my craft.

I've heard that art mimics life.

I understand the literal truth.

If they recognize a smile

On an old piece of canvas,

Would they believe the same

On the face of a child?

Could the colors of life,

Really hide the emptiness inside?

Could the mask, disguise the darkness?

I learned to sculpt,

I learned to paint,

I became an artist of second hand emotions.

I learned that there is only one truth.

They won't notice if...

You don't let them get too close.

But inevitably the guard falls,

The face falters,

And some will notice the cracks in the facade.

The hours of endless toil,

The decades of dedication,

And the years of practiced pretending,

Were no match for true scrutiny.

I became a museum.

Velvet ropes softened the distance.

Hushed lightening provided the proper response.

But those that cared to scrutinize,

Would ultimately spot the fake.

I've learned that to become a master,

Requires a lifetime of arms length relationships.

An emotional un-attachment.

There are no colors that mimic hope.

As I sit and sip my fourth sidecar,

pondering my precious disguise,

I try not to frown at my own thoughts.

What have I gained from my art?

How much have I lost?

For too long, I've held dear these constant doubts,

Masked truth behind martyred shouts.

Squandered my time making evil claims.

Convincing myself, others were to blame.

But it was my hands that built this cross.

The beams carved from supposed loss.

The nails polished to a sinful shine,

Reflecting nothing but my wasted time.