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The air is silent but for the sound of a faint hiss and crackle. I was too busy embraced in a stare at the cover art to even notice the surround of silence. The song was over, and I hadn't noticed but it's been through for some time now...yet the needle keeps moving on. I'm too stubborn to get up and change my tune.

I sit on the sound of my universe. The echo of my want seems to block out the found of the crackle and hiss of record that is over. I refuse to get up and admit thus side that I thought was the best.... Is over. The thing us we all know this songs been through for years.

this unhealthy co-existence has continued to live all by itself like a robot that finally remembered it was alive. I no longer have fingers to continue to scratch this itch. I refused to remove the band aid hopefully it will fall off on it's on without the pain of ripping it off.

I can't pretend not to think
I can't prevent my heart from sinking
My tough skin sheds
I really hate my shoes

cleaning out my heart
can't remember why
cleaning up my room
I never had the time
losing some weight
gaining some art
stumbling on a dying planet
trying to live to die on another sunny day
re-arranging my heart
combing my hair before it all falls out
re-arranging my room
now I have somewhere to rest my bag of bones

I glanced at the obituaries and saw a mention of a man who died and next to his name it said poetry lover normally where an occupation would be. It made me think for a second about poems and art and those that write them and those that read or look at them and then those who don't do either. I also thought about writing a few new poems of my own, in fact I threw out a few unfinished poems this day. I have much on my mind and heart these days and have been inspired but I don't want to force it.

As I removed the leach from my heart I remembered where I lost my brain.
Now the man who only loves things that can't or won't love him back got another chance.
I replaced the shame of regret with a sudden swell of honest wordplay.
I walk sweaty and hungry into the dying sunlight, I thirst for a sweet release to my new day of inspiration.
creative monsters are quickly escaping from the sewers of my mind.
The leak quickly becomes a spill and I hesitate to cap it and use my pen until the ink runs dry.

For forever I used to shy away from mirrors like a vampire.
inside the dusty smudges of glass I see an old friend.
lasting scars no longer visible
passing far from where I ran away from.
searching for the right metaphors I get myself dressed and think about making some eggs.
I stumble over and open the dirty blinds that release the sun into my room.
Taboo the cat finds comfort in the sun and my mind needs a Zoo mug full of coffee
A new Philadelphia day starts a new.

five years later and the sadness still remains
yet it softly sits my heart and not in my head
I slowly let go of the pain
but her memories forever remain
mourning now is turned into a way to pay tribute and respect
five years later and I let go of regret

As the city celebrated it's day of independence
I began to find my own
drifting loveless under a smokey sky
I found an answer from the reason why
as I drifted toward my home
my itching heart began to understand
I slowly began to let go of what i never really had
sadness never felt so joyful
I discovered the true meaning of this day and
regret was replaced with determination, self pride and inspiration
my eyes were red but from booze and not from crying
I water the plants of inspiration
and dust off my pride
walking toward the next inning with a smile and a new bat.

after filling my self with food
I strolled home through the spring of the city
as i passed a ball field I saw kids playing baseball
in the distance above them I saw the auburn sky screaming out to me
it looked like a painting but my mind was distracted by memories
I heard the small thud of a bat on a ball and remembered when I played ball as a kid
I got sad and angry for a second then remembered that those kids aren't old enough to go to the bar and I am
so I did.

it all seems too perfect
heading down the lane
life it seems to mock me
as only one remains
driven by my passion
thought you were the one
broken dreams and silent screams
makes my cold feet run

dressed up in my loneliness
fashioned by my pride
victim of the emptiness
no place left to hide
silence is my enemy
silence is my friend
I said everything
by the words I never said

There's dust on my guitar
my music can't go far
I told you I have nothing to say
ashes turn to dust
my tears they turn to rust
as more then days just pass away

Embraced inside the old brick walls at the corner of fifth and Arch is a serene and peaceful escape from our busy modern world. These sacred and historic two acres are ample "food for meditation". Wandering among the broken and faded headstones is like dancing with the whispers of our past. Beyond the sound of coins being tossed on the grave of Benjamin Franklin, is the sound of the dreams, hopes and desires of thousands of people whose names we may never know. Lost to the naked eye is the energy and emotion that can only be captured and collected in a painting or a song. Each day we celebrate