Raised

I was raised this way.
To love the wonderful, simple things.
Made to love the mood
More than the movement
Of life, in it's chaos and meaning.

Bred by simple sorts,

These folks are great.
They made me me.
They warned about some,
But not all. For if I knew it
I wouldn't be me entirely.
Learned experience is dynamic.
Enlist myself in excursions
That intertwine my meaning;
So I find myself whole,
By hands I've sculpted
From pain and love endured.
Independent, whimsical and true.
That's the stuff that holds down
When the storms roll through.

Shadow Sort and Searcher For Future

I feel like a phantom in this town.
I come out at night, but I hide in the corners,
Dark shadows, and alleyways,
With a few ragged sorts,
That understand my distant nature.

Everything is a role;
Put on the collared shirt and take an order,
Slow down the night with something
Sounding good and right,
Joke with the coworkers about the night,
And silently drive home,
To the quiet I like.

Even in the public eye,
Parading with pride the art I help heave,
I'm always off from the meaning,
Just setting in the groove I remember,
Then of course, disappearing.

The faces, they look at me.
They wonder what I'm up to,
But I only give them a little bit,
Just enough to pay the due.
I cleared the slate a while back.
Now I wait to pack my bags
And return to soil that makes sense.
But I always disappeared in that town too.
I'm always disappearing,
And I don't know why.

If you've got a beautiful mind,
What the hell's the use to hide?
Well it's a curse to be so selfish,
But I once gave them everything,
And ended up afraid and sad,
Because it wasn't always well received.
The pain, it lasts, but I'm going to open up again,
And let the flood pass.

Had A Cigarette

Caved under pressure,
But these feelings, they don't last,
Not forever.
Expiate my soul to evaporate
In the wonder of sound.
In it I will drown.
In it
I am home.

Day 2

Dear Cigarettes, I already miss you, but the relationship is just not working. It's been so many years, and all you've done is grown more greedy and bitter in your taste. You demand more of me every year, and you stress me out. You keep saying you want me to relax, but it just doesn't work. My heart starts racing, my breath is shortened, and none of it feels right anymore. Sure it was great, when I was young, flirted with you regular, but didn't have you by my side constantly to deal with any excuse. It's really hard to imagine you not in my life right now, but I know it must be so. I mean, the facts are in. You're high maintenance, and it's killing me, trying to keep up with your habits. There will always be fond memories I will hold with you- ...mostly because I had fond memories and I was holding you. But I feel that sooner or later this is all going to come to a crashing halt and I feel it should be now, while I still have my dignity, and at least a little of my youth left. You always left me breathless, let me just say that. The best companion over coffee. A good drinking buddy. You're just too destructive, and I want to fend for myself, for once. I need to take care of myself, and you never helped me there. You just kept driving home my bad habits. Maybe one day down the road we'll meet, glance at each other, and that will be that. I'm afraid to say, however, that I hope not. You're just a selfish bitch and I can't stand that anymore. You've made me a selfish bitch too, stealing me away from friends and family just to take a few minutes of nonplus time spent with you alone. You stink. You're high maintenance. You always make me go outside, even when it's so cold and you know I don't want to. It will be late, and I'll want to turn in, but no, we have to go to the supermarket, or the gas station, or worse, the liquor store, where you really encourage my vices. You are cruel, unforgiving, and a whore. Everybody know's you, and what you've been up to. It might not be so bad, but that shit you've got on people really shuts them up and listens to everything you say. Well, not me. Not this time, you saucy minx. Go piss on somebody else's parade for once. Go set yourself on fire and crumble to a pile of smoke on someone else's doorstep, because you're just cancer to everyone you meet.

Rough Hands

Do rough hands make a man?
Makes you wonder sometimes...
With a fistful of sand,
The hourglass still falls at regular intervals,
But the glass gets weaker with each turn.

Some men are born into this.
Born and raised with edges and angles;
A view skewed by evil and trouble,
And they are forced to reconcile
With every would-be contender alive.
There is a rare jovial fighter;
Mostly those just born with fire.

If he can't control it
He'll burn down too quick.
But some find a way out of this shit.
Some channel it somewhere to prove
That against them no one can pass.
Some choose a cause too big,
Then cash the checks and wonder
Why the hell they had to live.
What's to live for if your heart
Was broken from the start?

All good men start out broken.
How else would they be good
If they didn't dabble in the force
That fights their efforts,
And always be swinging like underdogs
With the faint scent of winning?

Rough hands, hearts ablaze.
They'll never stop for all their days.
And raise a hand for cause and right.
But they still burn on
Through the night.

Copyright ©2013 Charles Anthony Dominick

Change

Scared of the changes
But I know I must take them
And learn again a perspective
Derived individually.

My head spins with indecision;
My heart is pulled in many directions.
A grasp I'd gladly pay
A handsome sum to have.

When you are up to you neck
In it, you suppose you're to going
Drown in the problems
But what's the point of that?

Abandon your free right
To do whatever you want
Because someone did it first?
Just another fool, looking at the worst.

Love, dear boy. Love in life
Is the one true thing to bring about.
It'll make you sing.
It'll make you rearrange your brain.

You love, you are loved,
There are many things to love.
Spend some time deciding
If you're going to stop abiding
Life as a passenger.

Get some drive.

Copyright ©2013 Charles Anthony Dominick

September

The cool crisp air comes flooding in;
September has always been
A strong month for me.

When I filter my being into a
Singular viewpoint,
Surrounded by falling tempatures
And leaves unending,
I guess I just plain crumble
Like they do under my feet.

Many changes all at once,
It's very hard to sort this out.
I can believe there's going to be
A way for me to climb the hill
And see a peak I might commence
As one of more significance.

Copyright ©2013 Charles Anthony Dominick