September, 2007

(archives)

just listen

– brianprince

road rage. is like a homemade bird cage. you trapped yourself. thoughts wrapped tight. clinched with a belt. you can’t breathe. you can’t feel. all you do is just blow steam.
what’s wrong with this world that we are living in. the resistance. stronger than our own beliefs within.

dave, my neighbor.
i found him sitting next to the safe. with his gun. but in this case. the empty bottle of jack won.
why do we do this to ourselves. and why was he there for 4 days before anyone noticed? it’s not all relative. put that shit back into the book where you found it. and look around.
just listen.

it’s tolerance. that turned the twin towers to dust. is it really OK to form a religion that way? to create a god around your pleasures for the day? comfort. right? wrong. mind.
just listen.

the worst law is that of the wayward views. by defining what’s right for you. it differs within a group. all these rules and debates. get deeper and deeper. buried. rest in peace. against the stakes. living off People magazine. and Newsweek. where’s the rules? why are we ignoring the universal truth?

easier said than done, i suppose. maybe for someone, but not this one. you know, me! it just comes naturally. i mean, come on, someone has to relate to me. someone without enemies. please. we need to worry about the six-year old kids. who go with their parents to watch horror flicks. and on the 6-o’clock news. stories of oral sex and booze. teenage marriage. these are the things i’m scared of.

executing men and persecuting christians. that’s the least of my worries. it’s a feast on the weak. when sixteen-year-old girls are cutting themselves. to hide the pain. with their very own blood stream.

just listen.

line

– brianprince

it’s time to divide. and conquer. draw the line. and delete. my wrong. this time. reside. on the right side. come on, i’m a smart guy. i don’t play with sharp knives. i must of lost my mind. the line started thin, and parts were missing. but now those crimes. go to the other side. and get stuffed. into the archives.

an old highway. all divided. no progress. all play. it was like surgery. an “oddly peaceful urgency.” dotted line. changing lanes. going haywire. every which way. but today. i’m painting in my boundaries. i’m not crossing. for what’s within. already lies plenty of discoveries. to play with. it’s greener here. life without fear. so much in my face. over-flowing. rewarding. offering plate. anything beyond. brings confusion. and sorrow. if it doesn’t feel right, it’s clearly wrong by definition. the difference between. belief and believing. not just the spelling. the choice where i’m dwelling. choosing to rest. you’re taking apart lives. don’t believe the hype. i’m avoiding dark skies. making a wise life. focusing on light skies. in case i die. when the lord comes for his bride. i need to be. undeniably. on the right side.

weighing the two angels. resting upon my frail shoulders. i loved the good one just as much as the other. i yelled. somebody. anybody. split me up. i wanted it all. both worlds. todos. the blonde. and the red-headed girl. the questions arise. the “right” always screams. and demands. while the “devil” whispers and takes my hand. this spiritual battle. knows who i am. and it’s drawing the line.

providing for my family is more rewarding for me. it’s unbelievably exciting. and incredibly exhausting. but it’s a dream. it’s my life. it’s everything i wanted. to produce little me’s. back then i was selfishing speaking. but those plans became reality. at the age of twenty-three. and to marry kristy, my junior high crush. when she said hi, i would instantly blush. this is love. now we can grow old together. yearn for a world that is better. who would have thought. except for our God. hope’s chances increased. i can’t go anywhere but further. up. down. at least i’ll be bound to the side of the line that pleases my father.

i have heart burn. but it’s a good thing. the burning of my heart. the way that it should. the passion. the freedom. all wrapped into one. burrito. within. meat. cheese. jalepeno. just one order. a border, but limitless, nonetheless. i’m defining my line. i’m really starting to like. my side. this time.

music therapy

– brianprince

music has always been my therapy.
used to soothe me in times of defeat.
confusion crusher. mind set free.
expansion. expression. amongst
the wrath inside of me.
saving my soul,
brave words grow.
no one knows,
the source of my sorrow.
my breath. this war. your treaty.
but never fear. these words
themselves are pouring tears.
reflecting in the mirror.
fogged and unclear. yet,
thought out and so pure.

the battle of expression.
saddle up for this mission,
this journey – take course.
the answers revealed
on the white horse. accept it.
it’s true. the feelings. the burn.
it’s text book. now turn
the page. to revelations
and learn the way. to Jesus.
my music therapy.
poetically sent from above.
it’s natural. meant to love.
block everything else out.
sock satan in the mouth.
as my pen drips
this lyrical madness.
songs and psalms
so beautiful.
even disturbing because
we cant fathom
what we
were meant
to be.

music.

broadway

– brianprince

somebody fax me
to Broadway.
fit me between
the slots straight.
nice and snug.
as the machine tugs
on the right spot.
dial 1 2.1.2. bla bla bla.
go on. just do it. someone.
astutely hit send!

beep. beep.
the loud, high-pitch
melody rings.
like my heart
bleeding.
followed by
the crunchy sound.
digital transmission.
high speed.
through the wire.
the violin strings.
pushing me.
again.

pop. sigh.
like a falling feather.
flying by. side to
side. so graceful.
i’m the paper, mostly,
floating.
partially,
falling. longitude.
latitude.
in a drifters mood.
landing smooth.
not in the tray.
but on stage.
the curtain is removed.

all is exposed.
all that i know.
now what? i’m here. but
i’m a fax,
not an actor. remember?
i’m white and flat.
imperfect
replication of dust
and ink spats.
good information.
i transfer frustration.
mostly confusion.
i’m the answer
to someone. often
no good to myself.

take me for what i am.
not always bright, vibrant
and beautiful.
i rip easy. i get framed.
don’t throw me
away.
use the recycle receptacle.
im not always
suitable. and
i reflect light.
im not always
right. and lately
i can barely stand
in the stillness of the night.
stop relying on me.
to entertain the stage.
because im
merely a man.
graying and
coming of age.

it’s good
that Broadway doesn’t last
forever.
one thing off my eternity
list. the treasure
i’ll miss.
but i still find myself
measuring. my worth.
every thing. comparing. coveting.
overworked. i’m tired.
exhausted. this life
means nothing.
without love. because.
words aren’t valid
without actions.
so i’m acting.
just because.
now send me back.
to the factory.

routine.