Don’t let your fears
plug up your ears
to the song of glory
woven through your story
for yet another year.
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I’m the strongest one around.
I tell myself this because it’s true.
It’s true because I tell myself this.
I secured an iron-clad throne
atop the summit of my country,
and ruled with unquestioned authority –
until they came.
They passed through my world like a storm:
powerful and unstoppable.
There was no malice in their actions,
but they left desolation in their wake.
My fortress lay in ruins:
the walls were torn down,
carrying chunks of my foundation away,
and forcing me to face the real world.
The mountains of my childhood
were merely hills inflated with hubris,
and the complacency of my years
never recognized the truth until now.
I was a big fish in a small pond,
and I sat there like a fat little frog
who’d convinced himself that a gilded cage
was a golden throne.
I could rebuild, but honestly –
what’s the point?
I can’t return to that way of living
without blinding myself to the truth.
The once and future king no more,
the little king of the hill departs.
Regalia removed and forgotten,
I track the footsteps of giants.
But I do not seek to cast them down,
instead my heartfelt wish
is to lift myself up to their level,
and walk among the gods.
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The world fades away,
and I’m pulled back to that day –
held by a memory
that captivates me,
and holds me in its sway.
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While you may fear danger
from the kindness of strangers,
you cannot let suspicions
chart your expeditions.
Trust can be hard to extend,
but the bet pays dividends
when your life fills to the brim
with your beloved kith and kin.
So don’t let your fears
make the choice for you dears –
search for a route
beyond worry and doubt.
Be brave and step forward,
and reach for your reward.
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Whispers on the wind
trace stories on my skin,
urging me to soar
to lands never seen before,
and I can’t wait to begin.
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Underneath the swagger and charm,
there’s a soul who’s been harmed,
and the scars he carries in his heart
make it hard for him to build a new start.
Behind a fragile-looking shell,
there’s a soul who’s been through hell,
but she swears that they were wrong,
and promises herself that she’ll stay strong
Could these two hearts make a pair
if they happened to meet somewhere,
or would their pain just be too great
for them to change their lonesome fate?
But for their sake, I hope and pray
that there’s relief and healing on that day.
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Some nights
when I’m feeling down in the dumps
I start to ask myself,
“Am I worthy
of love?”
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Peace is simple,
in solitude
and silence.
But when you step in
to the storm and the din,
it’s much harder to find
some peace in your mind.
Forgiveness is tough
when someone gets rough,
and their anger’s misplaced,
and thrown in your face.
But if you can stand steady
when the world’s all too ready
to start one helluva fight,
then maybe you’re doing it right.
Just maybe you’re doing it right.
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It’s good to see you again,
my dear beloved friend.
It’s been a while
since I saw you smile,
and that sight’s a godsend.
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I wonder while I’m wandering,
muse while I’m pondering
about the worth of it all,
about whether or not to answer the call.
For my despair sings a song,
seductively inviting me along
to the promise of a life,
to the promise of a knife.
Sheer stubbornness keeps me standing
before all that whispered demanding,
and the knowledge of what this end
will do to my family and my friends.
But knowing that, my weary grief
remains tempted by a promise of relief.
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A (wise) man of two faces 