A single digit day in store
The ice clad water
Laps against the shore
Of Lake Michigan
On the southern front
Where industry meets
Earth
The cold blows over my skin
Again
And reminds me of my youth
When it wasn’t to hard
To live through the bitter
Cold
The melodic pen
Pushed through the pages
Of a life lived
Through a pin point
Directions
Of hope
And left over pizza
This pen pushed itself
When days teeter
Into the end
I am kneeling
In a distant mind
Dirty old fowls
Blowing through
My brain
Until the ides
Of tomorrow
Coming rolling in
Like morning fog
So I hold these final thoughts
On a moment
Kneeling
My mind
Chicken fangs
The real thing
Or the disdain
Of reality and truth
What is the difference
What is uncouth
How is the past
Is the future here now
The chicken fangs are
Out
All around
I was under my expectations
But overdue
For an adjustment
Of my strained
Blurry vision
From the circular world
That spins
So quietly
Around us
I had hopes to rise
Above the acidic
Rain
But for now I see what
Where I am at
And can’t
Complain
An abstracted
Detracted
Line of sight
In the evening
Of a sailers
White capped waves
Over and over
The ocean of life
Rolls
Over and over
Until I can’t see
Anymore
Nothing too formal
Because I don’t want a lot
What the idea was to be
A little more nonchalant
Rebel Hopes
On the way
To being a renegade spirit
These worn out days
I have ideas
That are not so unique
With words
Bleak
But I hope to see a
Light
Guided by my own
Divine sight
For wherever I am pulled
I will hold on
To these rebel hopes
I had one
Destiny had two
I have learned
To hope for a chance
A chance to see the world
In my hapless state of mind
A world gentle and kind
Or rather as I hope it is
And not for what it
Truly
Is
It is bestowed
Upon the ones
Who inhabit this land
With torn shoes
And weathered hands
That we make this earth
Our home
In that
We have to know
That the earth
Is an art
That is more important than
The words I write
I learn to be a steward
Of the world I know
A Cup of Songwriting 