One Night

As the smoke flutters off my lit cigarette,

I remember all the dreams I let pass by.

I remember the ambition,

The hope,

The fearlessness in those eyes,

It feels like my youth was wasted in those moments passed by.

I look back now and think why,

Why not this,

And why did you do that,

No matter how many whys and ifs,

Those moments have passed by. 

Now I see the moonlit sky,

And it conjures those moments since passed by,

But the future,

And the unending promise it holds,

Will never let me go to far awry.

The dreams that have passed by,

Will always be by my side,

But knowing not where my future will lie,

I will always keep my watchful eye,

Closely on that midnight sky.  

The Future, Unsold

All ye who drivel with swine,

What is the point of this time?

Lost men without a cause,

You wander into an unending pause.

The merriment of drink and laughter,

Has left you without anything to look for or after.

The rose buds bloom as spring shines through,

But the womb is barren and yields nothing true.

Come one,

Come all,

The future can be un-stalled.

Fruit in the Garden of Eden,

Has yet to poison the lives you believe in.

The jester dances upon the mighty shoulder,

While the rest are left to growing older.

The tempest strings a lovely tune,

In order for the masses to heal the bloody wound.

The dust has yet to settle,

And now it is dawn,

The world keeps turning,

And you still play along.

Dogmatic fallacy dances along the tongue

As the birds become slowly chained to the sky.

The comforting breeze gives way to pollution,

While the junkie clings onto a new high. 

For all the cries demanding revolution,

No one seems to want to die for the solution,

While resolution and absolution muddy the waters

With nothing but intrepid disillusion. 

The past has yet to unfold,

While the present is here to behold,

And upon the precipice of the future told,

A light remains, un-bought and unsold.  

The Drink

I drink to my father,

I drink to my unborn son,

I drink to time gone by,

And for that to come.

I drink to Michael Collins, 

I drink to England more,

I drink to remember those bastards,

And their retreat by the sword.

I drink to Patrick,

I drink to the motherland too,

I drink to all my countrymen,

Displaced immigrants too.

I drink to friends,

I drink to foes,

I drink to ideals worth more than silver and gold.

I drink to freedom,

I drink to life,

I drink to humanity,

And all the world's plight.

So stand up,

Raise your glass, 

As I share this drink with you.

The Darkness

The mystery,

Spinning faster,

And faster.

Spinning down,

Farther down.

Hope is sinking

While the eyes are blinking.

The black hole grows

And the emptiness leads,

But where, nobody knows.

Deep inside the abyss,

The mind wanders to unspeakable light.

Blaring,

Blinding,

The heart considers resigning.

The world turns on its head,

And nakedness becomes all that is.

Fearing,

Loathing,

The eyes read into all that is going.

Motionless illusion dances with moral constitution.

Day becomes night,

While pain lingers as afternoon delight.

The soul seeks retribution,

And finds emptiness in what was.

The Jester

In victory there is always loss

And in defeat there is nothing but pain.

The poison coursing through a man’s veins,

Cheapens his sense of reality.

In pursuit of higher virtuous dreams,

The jester ultimately finds himself beaten,

With the stark truth that one man’s happiness is another’s pain.

The shimmering glint of valor has faded away,

While honesty lies naked, in search of a home.

The jester then, returns to his post,

Knowing only that cheap tricks satisfy,

And that he too shall die with a blackened soul. 

Emotion

All that is just is no more.

The past is but a frontier to remember,

What happened then has already changed,

And the present state is all that remains.

From one moment to the next, the world changes,

People die, people are born,

Countries fall and rise.

The growing complexity of all this madness has consumed man,

And turned him into a monster of the past, present, and future.

The words I speak now have already grown stale

As the flies of a chaotic abyss begin their rapid descent.

The truth, if there be any left in this concrete jungle,

Lies in the fleeting explosion between the mind and the heart.

The sensation of naked emotion, which seems to terrorize this present,

Is the only honesty we can still embrace.

Punching Keys and a Man Named Jameson

Do not go quietly my son,

The night has pity on only one.

The misty rain as it fell,

Burst with fire upon the well

Seeking prodigal son.

Out of ash and pure mistaken hope,

The junkie slings the endless rope.

Come with me now and save the sun,

Jesus can’t sell t-shirts without his whiskey and rum.

The venom of the politician’s spear

Lifts the death right from behind the curtain, and clear

Across a grey dusty haven.

Be till oh silent night,

Allah has no place in my bed tonight.