Kings

It happens every few months to me
at one of these whose-who meetings
Where I'll smile and sit quietly
as the kings of this industry
walk in.

Their voices too sharp to be genuine
Their smiles held too long to be real
As they work the room, while some show respect
and others jump and jitter

trading values for so-called cred
true dreams for another rung on a ladder
that should never be climbed

because men sell their souls
to reach the top, only to
find they've journeyed to a lie.

The two kings
of this storefront hollywood
step to me.

My mood remains cordial
giving them another chance
I speak kindly
as I would to any living being.

And, as always, the pretend
not to hear me.
Thinking surely I'll give up soon.

Moving on, their stench goes with them
of blood money
drenching their profit-thrones, built
on broken dreams.

The elder king looks back with a smirk
believing one day soon he'll break me.

Stepping away from the party.
There has been enough drama for one evening.
Enough looks telling me,
I'll always be the lowest.

I know the looks well,
I've been seeing it for years now
and proving them wrong just as long.

But now matter now
for the cold air hits my lungs
as I hold the breath for a moment
and let it burn.

Pedals spinning, light fading
as I glide silently
to a house
where being real still matters
and no one trades business cards.

I sip some hot tea, and meander out to
the backyard bonfire, dropping to the grass
in an old grey sweatshirt and
jeans faded through the knees.

A group of 10 companions
watching the fire consume the wood
traveling on this journey and swapping stories
passing the acoustic guitar and laughing.

And I think of the two men in power
of their existence and what they believe.
And the raw truth is the opposite of the way things seem.

For they are the kings of misery
while, tonight
We are the kings of living.

Influences

When I was young,
my mother
to love and be kind
live a good life
and let God have your problems.

But I grew up too fast
in the middle of violence
becoming acquainted too soon with death.

And all of a sudden I was alone
when my friend Brian Hooks told me
It takes being hard to make it in this world
And I believed him.

We were just 14,
and I see now we were wrong.

There were so many problems,
and I found an outlet when 2pac taught me to scream,
while Billy Corgan put a voice to my wound
and Johnny Cash taught me to come home.

I looked in the mirror one morning
and saw an 18 year old out on his own
when Switchfoot put words to my dreams
John Denver explained my longing for the farm,
and Cash taught me to come home.

At 23, I've seen 5 countries
cause Jack Kerouac taught me the glory of the road.
While robert Frost illustrated
the impact of choices,
and Johnny Cash showed me the way home.

Then U2 stepped in and proved that 4 chords and a chorus can change the world
as Skynyrd taught me
Happiness comes in being a simple man.

Then C.S. Lewis showed truth through fantasy
Tolkien honor through epic.
Dante took me on a tour of hell,
and one professor put me through it.

Sarah Kelly showed me the power
when honesty meets a song.
Counting Crows helped me to yearn,
Don Miller to wonder
Bob Dylan to stay an individual in a world
that wants you to be anything but.

While Common showed that hard streets
don't have to end in a life of violence.
And Kanye sat me down
for a class on perseverance.

Drive-By Truckers helped me to stay
proud of who I am and where I've been.
As Sleeping at Last sheds light on where I'm going.

They’re poets and dreamers,
thinkers and priests,
and I ponder the weight of their art on my soul

on a dark night
with Cash coming through the speakers
as I find my way home.

hello.

Hey frieds.

Well, myspace's blogging just isn't working out for me. So I'll be trying this.

Not only will it be a place for my thoughts on various life topics...but it's going to be the first (and only) place online I share my more personal writings...such as the spoken word that as of now only exists in my journal.

So, thank you for stopping by. Having a voice is the dream for me. Whether it's on the New York Times best seller list, spitting my word creations at an open mic night in a coffee shop, or blogging here, I'm grateful.

tower