I'm just playing a guitar and singing again.
Trying to boil out the feelings I have with in.
Tired of the notions of romance.
Its not like I ever had a chance.
Playing a song that I wrote for a friend.
Those songs that tell of my worlds end.
Tired of the notions of happiness.
My life designed to be loveless.
So I scream in my head, talk to my shadow, and cry to the world.
But its okay
Or so they say
Those miserable and in despair are so easy to control

There's another story I have in my heart.
Its good beauty, and mistakes as well as hope that doesn't hurt.
Just a kid making mistakes from the start.
It was like everything I did only served to makes things worse.
She was a blonde with a Russian princess's name.
I was sheltered by a single mother knew not how to be a man.
Got into trouble a lot, a bad child always in shame.
Creepy perverted jerk that had a hard time keeping still my hands.
But then one day, I apologized and she said it was okay.
I opened doors, and used manners no one used anymore.
She would smile, she'd laugh, my heart fluttered for a while.
She was the girl I knew I wanted to be her whole world.
Time progressed, she expected me there.
I opened a door and she teased me by going through another.
It was great to be young, a heart to care.
The only insecurity was obvious uselessness due to my mother.
She treated me like I was a possession.
Unable to call, do anything or go anywhere, I was no good.
But her smile, at night became an obsession.
I was willing to push for time as best that I possibly could.
I remembered one day, when she said it was all okay.
I opened doors, and used manners no one used anymore.
She would smile, she'd laugh, my heart fluttered for a while.
She was the girl I knew I wanted to be her whole world.
One day a mutual friend told me I had her heart.
I didn't believe her, I was nothing and could do nothing for a girl.
So many mistakes I made from the start.
But time was an enemy, a cruel illusion: man made in the world.
I've only seem her once or twice here and there.
Over the years, just memories to keep hope in my heart within.
She'd recognized me first, proof of her care.
All I can do is pray for her, the smiles and laughter she'd given.
I remember one day, when she said it was all okay.
I opened doors, and used manners no one uses anymore.
She would smile, she'd laugh, and my heart fluttered a while.
She was the girl I wanted to be her whole world.
I guess we all have that story, of one that got away.
To teach us, I guess, about opportunities everyday.

We were so far away, but you still remain close to my heart.
It was tenderness in whispers heard from far apart.
Talks of romance, laying next to each other in bed.
Kept apart from the chaotic lives we both have led.
I still hear the whispers in my dreams I say into your ear.
I still write the poetry of love, of our bodies speaking clear.
The writings of joining hips, of joining hearts, of sleep.
I don't have any regrets except of that we didn't ever meet.
That I lost touch with a rare kind of connection of mind.
I lost touch with a woman I believe is the loveliest of kind.
Tonight, I will whisper to the phantom of your ear.
I will whisper of love, hearts speaking loud and clear.
I will speak of blindfold, bondage, or roses in bed.
I will whisper the poetry you told me you loved I said.
I will close my eyes and see you next to me, watching you.
Watch you breath, hear you sigh, maybe you'll dream, too.
Dream of me, next to you, telling you how beautiful you are.
No matter where you are, what's happened, or how far:
I hope you feel my heart whispering to yours.
I hope you feel its welcoming of you like open doors.
I will kiss the night, and hope you feel it and warmth on your lips.
Maybe we'll meet in dreams, under starry skies, joining hips.
You are the one I miss tahlking to, writing to and for, you are my kiss of midnight.
Kat, be it Alaska, Oklahoma, or San Antonio, I hope you feel my love, kiss of midnight.

As we find ourselves in darker times in our economics, encouraged racism, war-like and power-hungry agendas of the US Government, and an epidemic of depression and other "invisible diseases", some can find character building and strength within themselves.
Others however, seem to find hope in shallow standards. And as times get tougher, hope gets brighter and standards raise. Some women call it "security" to wed a well financed man. But is that not just a different way to say that they lay down for money? There's another word for women like that.
what happened to compatibility of spirit and character in values of the opposite sex? Why when things get tougher its becomes increasingly more about money and looks? I mean, I can understand turning down an obese person for waking up worrying of a heart-attack is unhealthy. But its appalling how we seem to judge people with a slight pudginess as bad and unwanted as obesity.
I try not to rant like this, but I'm a writer (amateur by definition as far as money is concerned) and I get even crankier when I don't write. I'm primarily a writer on FaceBook, but I wonder if I should start multi-blogging.
But back to my point...
What is so great about money? I've yet to meet a farmer whom is insulted to be asked to for employment for food rather then money. I've yet to meet a hunter who wouldn't trade a little meat for veggies to go with the meat he consumes. Why the materialistic values based on finances?
"Money begets envy and envy is the root of all evil" it is written. You do not have to be of Abrahamic theologies (Christianity, Islamic, Judaism) to appreciate the wisdom in said statement.
Money is evil. People kill for it, turn against family, divorce for it, marry for it, turn family away for it, neglect family for it, assault for it, and many other things too numbered to list.
Power, we all have it. But some have to have more.
While both can do good, why doesn't it?
How can people talk of "forever" in love and marriage when the first sign of financial trouble or even just difficulties, some run off and lay down for the first fattened wallet they find? Like I've said: "There's another word for someone who lays/loves for money." In fact, they're kind ones by keeping the heart out of it. The ones called that other word is the kind one anyhow...