Sonnets: Declaration

Who rules the media, the news and such,

and tells us what they see... what they see clutch?

These people all are one in one the same

they guide our lives like pawns in a chess game.

Th'Illuminati are the ones I tell

you of and they will guide our lives to Hell.

But that Hell... this Hell on Earth is thus...

is thus that its creation is a must.

Without a loss of such prognosticates

we'd never learn to save our own fates

and we stay thus evermore awaiting

that son of God who had us created.

I want thee all to see and thus be sure,

that all those that can stand can sit no more.

A Birthday Wish

What is a birthday? Just a day

for you to see what the cards do say.

Since nothing on them just right seems

to show your hopes for the year, your dreams,

the disappointment of inertial strain

does carry on and strain your brain;

and this strain you feel, this stress,

does grow and thrive once you have dressed.

Because the day has passed sans change,

and naught you see is rearranged,

you may feel you'll 'ever be

trapped in anonymity,

but this is just a passing phase

and joy you'll see in the coming days.

How can you know what I say is true?

I have been there, for "I" is you.

Why Don't I Work

I procrastinate.

I run away.

I refuse to let me think.

Why don't I work?

I fired that clerk

who brought me to the brink.

In destruction,

in perdition

my schooling ship did sink.

I lost my goal

and stared like foal

at failure and I blinked.


My whole crew was

within my head;

my ship was one-man-manned.

I sailed her forth

to college north

and found no gleaming sand.

In this arctic waste

myself i've faced

against me I've made my stand.

This divided crew

does search for truth

and lonesome ships rebranded.

Destruction Ergo Destruction

When your mind's a mess
you try to find a space
where you can save some face
and rectify post-haste

from all the crap they do
that makes you so confused
and it's not at all conducive
to your unfound muse, but

now you are the one that's
pulling that fucking crap
and there' no where in hat
of your magical rabbit

you can find at all where
you can't find your mind there
so you win o'er some mare
and stick your tongue in there where

you can pull out some shit
like fuckin' type class-B Hep.
but when they do the blood test
you get the 'sults and have wept

'cuz your whole life's done
you've gone and had your fun
and when you're twenty some
shit older, have a son

who grows up knowin', dude,
what you're goin' through
which brings about in you
a change in your mood

but you can't figure out
what he is on about
so you bring a bout out
and you start to shout

and pull away from him
whi is your only friend
and so you try to sim-
ulate upon a whim

a better life for y'all
where all your strife, you can handle,
and so your life just falls
short of all you want, and are.

Why Dont I Work?

I procrastinate.
I run away.
I refuse to let me think.
Why don't I work?
I fired that clerk
who brought me to the brink.
In destruction;
in perdition,
my schooling ship did sink.
I lost my goal
and stared like foal
at failure and I blinked.

My whole crew was
within my head;
my ship was one-man manned.
I sailed her forth
to college north
and found no gleaming sand.
In this arctic waste
myself I've faced
against myself I've made my stand.
This divided crew
does search for truth
and lonesome ships remanded.

To Find Love

The wherewithall
in this land of fate
gives nothing towards
a sauntering gait
until the steps of what you do
lead you to a different you.

So, go forth now,
and sow your loving.
Leave it not in ancient covens.
for all the work and anything
go forth along for soul to sing.

Please, this trail though long...
just hike until your death you'll find
a love lost lest
you move your body toward it.
Your one true love... you'll find it.
It's love itself.

Writing Down My Dreams

In my head,

a flow of ideas

of fabulously fictional escapes,


and so I said,

"well, paper, here's

a run through for the fates."


And once I started,

I could not stop it

and wrote out Morphean lies.


I wrote bitches, cold hearted,

who went out and fought it.

Now, their bodies are lieing piled.


So, gruesome and gory,

but broken, distorted, her

feelings bursting at the seams


for a story, see,

of truths distorted, sure

just writing down my dreams.