Holding onto your wisp,

the feint stench of what you use

to be. Before your grasp

was comparable to an Iron Fist,

Ruler of a meek dungeon,

the warden called you Danny,

now you walk idle halls.

Saddle up

and ride through

past the sun.

Your adventure is over

and tavern wenches pass

your tales like herpes.

Hat filled to the brim

of ego and spills

through the fresh bullet hole.

Sleep great adventurer. Your next

adventure has already begun.

I see you;

standing

on your mountain top

peering down at us

like a god to a man.

Who crowned you king?

When did your entitlement

place you at the top,

to call down below saying

we deserved our past.

It easy from way up there

isn’t it. Will be

waiting when a sudden gust

out of your control

pushes you. The fall 

down won’t be pretty.

Oh we had some good times.

Running threw untrimmed meadows

laughing, laughing until our cheeks

turned red as lips.

Than, oh than the he blew through

the ceiling like a cyclone.

I found the shelf under my ass,

watching the light come through as

fragments dreaming of the real thing.

Dust mites came,

swarmed the finished wood,

to keep me warm through the winter.

I hurt myself today.

Fell on a pile of stones left

by myself. By myself at a quarry

staring into the sun for fun.

Late for a date I hurt myself.

My mom called it self sabotage

and she prayed for tomorrow.

Praying I don’t visit the quarry again.

It boils in the pit of insecurity

measured on the tip of my tongue.

It won’t, It won’t

fly like the bird I envisioned.

The bird in my dreams that

flies to new heights, through

the atmosphere and seeing the stars.

It hides in its cage. Chained too

my lunges and sings to

itself about the dream it once

had.

Battle the greats and hear they roar,

roar until tomorrow’s sun rise

on their command. The greats

are only for a single sun

for the new is crowned

for the moon. The sun

opens the gate of the mountain

for the greats to walk their final

journey. Transcend into the

god, becoming the gods

in footsteps left behind.

Can’t be afraid to fail

if you want it all.

It read on the tomb

of a sand filled god.

Spears and free folk

rampart the fields over

his dreams. Pools of 

sparkling paradise

decorate the edges,

where the free searched.

Chessy Montage in the comments section

the clean streak is over. We’ve seen

the best of the best in highlight form

living the high life before

I know whats next.

Rolling the pair of dice

looking for paradise

matching the asking price

dying on father’s flotation device.