Rock-a-Bye-baby, in the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
They left you hanging there,
Safe, they thought.
The sun-seasoned breeze rocked you
Too-and-fro, too-and-fro.

And who could say that you were any less than innocent?
Twenty fruits in six sturdy trees,
If any one of them falls
Does it make
A sound?

It ripples whole oceans,
Storms blown all over America by the Big Bad Wolf,
We thought his breath
Could do little more than rustle the leaves.

Little did we know he would blow
Not-yet-ripe fruits to the ground.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
Down will come baby, cradle and all.

I confess in this test that we call life,
We all use, various things, to reduce strife.
In dark times it's hard, to be a light.
Which leads us to getting lost in tunes after a long night.
Now despite whatever's the preferred genre,
I'll manifest what I rep and lay it down upon ya.
Break down your walls with a magnetic new energy,
Crafted in the kitchen and blended so splendidly.
Differences in instances have influenced the bliss in this,
This art is how you choose it
However you view it, we were blessed with music.

I saw you alone, with headphones,
and it was almost sad to see.
I nod as I walk past, casually.
We're both drowning, in you I see the eternal me
It hasn't taken long to see that we connect perfectly.
Our soul is our luxury,
Deeply rooted we have grown astronomically
and by the music we are bound Universally.


It promotes your liberation,
Instilling feelings in you without hesitation, no need for contemplation.

Music will be with you wherever you take it,
Find solace in it's comfort like a security blanket.

My Utmost Significance Isn't Confined
The art lies in what you see within the lines.

In the beginning there was truth, unhindered and un-splintered
obvious and obviously good, remember?
then entered a serpent who'd had his ego injured
he spoke words more smoothe and sly than  eve's ears had ever heard

Speak Truth!

Since then the disharmony is harmin me
dissonance is dissin me in totality
breakin me apart my heart is split into
two - count em two- duality
******* the vitality right outta me
leaving me wounded and without a dynamic melody to sing in metaphysical reality

It's not just a fable see-
they're trying to change me, chain me
trying to tame me, train me

I AM BEING DOMESTICATED.
I am being transformed from the true but hated
into the shallow form of the antiquated
into little mix and match mutt, play nice, look better than ever, half true whole lie
source of more than a little disturbing shoe leather

I AM BEING WALKED ON.
I AM DONE.

Like banging a drum
                      passed the graveyard,
it's all he can do
to tell himself.. it's not hard.
The tombstones cast an iery light,
you can hear the faint sounds of trombones
caught behind the moon
on this chilly night.

One makes stands
higher than the other,
he recognizes this
to be his brother.

Then he takes out the fold-together  *****
from his back-pack,
and commences to dig.
He digs and he digs,
the pile of dirt grows around him..

then all of a sudden.. clunck-clunck...
he hits the ornate casket with a rock hammer,
that casket that was bought and sold
by the many wails and tears
of the family and friends.


out strikes the rock hammer,
...thud...thud...,thud.

he says to himself.. this must be hardwood...****.. I should have brought a drill!.

aghh the life of a grave robber... not quite a coffin cheater.
his hands are ***** now, and the midnight sky twinkles dissent.

it's plain though,yes its plain,it's plain it's plain...

Digging' up your own brother for a watch and a suit that might not even fit you.. and what else.. a couple of rings.......  good luck to you.


© 2013

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.