The spiral to destruction

A ship sets sail on the open ocean with 500 at its helm.
But wind and wave and sea born beast leave 300 to set the sails.

300 is too small to sail a large sea faring ship-
so 100 in three long boats go forth to brave the wisps.

Wouldn't you know that the sea is an ugly mistress
So 100 in just one boat end up the advent-tourists.

When land is far from you and sickness kills at sea,
Then 50 became that crew of 500's company.

And yet as the adventure waned, no land did these men see-
So after many months along, there were but 1, 2, 3!

And 3 men could not brave the whale, their boat was split in two!
Said one man to the other, this raft is too small for me and you.

And driftwood rafts with one man aboard
Cannot the open ocean bear-
If ship to feed or ship to join does not come soon I fear,
There won't be any of the 500 to sail again, anywhere.

The lesson's this for crews avast:
Be careful of your shipman's number
For those who dwindle will not last
Expand or die to feed the hunger.

Make note of this my Shipman friends
For I predict this now:
If you have listened then now you watch
The fate of the 500 from your bow
Whatever ship you sail on now...

Resume

I need my friends now 'cuz I've fallen in a dark hole-
Already lost myself, I feel empty like I lost my soul
Some shit went down and I feel like life is over
And I'm all alone with no friend's shoulder

I'm older than I've ever been and my life is fractured too
I may lose my job, my home and have to start it all again
See, the tip of my shotgun is looking more and more like my last remaining friend...

Battle for humanity

There is scarce the room for good old men
When young men blossom being taught greed
Is the way of the world to achieve your dreams
Even at the expense of your elder kin.

And what of the old philanthropist
Who, jilted, does not research his cause
But so many are in need he gives to this
Or that, provided someone sees him as good.

And when we die, we've only lived once
In hedonism to enjoy the days when
We lived for fun and whatever we want-
There is scarce the room for good old men.

That old familiar feeling

Hello old friend you've come again
In guise of winter darkness.
Your Frosty sheen is cold and mean
And you've saddled me like a cowboy.

In days of snow your magic grew
Despite the cold, I still had youth
And now my older years have come
It seems I'll never see the sun.

I told you once you had no end
And then I gained and lost some friends
In moments I had such great bliss
Then lost it all in moments like this:

The pre-waking hour when I see what's to come
And what has gone and what I've done.

All i do is win

It started with this day though, all these little hohos/ up in the store beggin for more and the drizzlan was like oh no. Too young to be living it, too old to give up/ I had the pussy on a pedestal/ my mind was all made up. I should have been like roomy/ money first then poony/ my girl was like the wind as it pushed me back towards Jersey. Asked her if she'd marry/ all this time I'd carried/ stupid girl was always up in shady shit that varied. Real world that I hated led me to get jaded till another b**** made me feel again only to be hated. I was then alone, motel was my home/ till 5 days in a bus ride, got me to a dome. Living with my parents and always down on luck till I lost my damn mind, scene missing, out of the rut.

Now I'm just years older, story of a soldier/ gone AWOL off the wall till I finally settled down/ moved to a new town, and I'm focused on that money. Looking back I grin because today I only win.

"All I do is win! win!"

The addict's pledge

For every time the bottle calls
Go to the gym instead.
And every time nicotine whines-
Picture its hand leading you to death.
And as fast food is a demanding mistress
Treat yourself to vegetables and ranch in bed-
But most of all, my friend, clear your head.

The gift of ignorance in knowledge

The last wooing of pretty girls
Is compliments on their pretty white  dresses
And how nicely it compliments their curls.

The last hoorah of a talented man
Is when he gets his corner office
And sits atop his pile of sand.

The madman!
His day is always exalted!
By legions of winged nyphettes-
And all their gods and goddesses.

He is not bound by rythms and he knows nothing of rhyme-
Save the counting of the heart beat to
the inescapable: time.

I think I'd rather break the code
Of daily life lived poorly
So I end up like the madman
With a ever-changing story.
And sit atop a heap of dead dragons in my Quixote glory!