UNSCRIPTED GRAVITY
A Life’s Journey
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Let me read your book and dance in your pages,
Pages of unscripted gravity that never lets you come down,
A gravity that brings me to a fiction-like truth,
A truth that leads us to speak with dead voices,
Dead voices of desire knock on locked doors.
Let me run my fingers over your words, finding stuff that you forgot,
Forgetting an understanding of what’s going on,
We don’t have to say a word when the lights go out.
Let me give you a reason to show me your inner sky,
A sky that frames hollow trees blowing in the breeze along a raging sea,
A raging sea that drowns me while saying, please forgive me.
Let me find your pulse before I plant your seed,
A seed so deep that it’s protected by an invisible fence that circles a stained glass house,
A house that holds memories of stuff you should forget,
Forgotten truths of shackled anger found deep in a cavernous jungle.
Let me taste your dream long enough to paint a picture,
A picture of a man who has no shadow on the wall,
A man with a story of seasoned pain.
Let me hold you long enough to spin uncontrollably in a lazy waltz,
A waltz to an underground road of mystery that takes me to you.
Let me be your dreamer tonight so that we can wake up tomorrow,
Some days are blind to who we are,
Some nights are endless with what we know,
Let me read your book so we dance in your pages!!! -
Ride home with tequila fire, his name in your head.
Door cracked open, he wants you in his bed.
Tall, electric blonde in denim, bolt bright at night.
Slim waist, long legs, a hunter built to bite.
Eyes like loaded promises; mouth that ruins vows.
Lime and trouble on your lips, he wants you now.
No questions, no stopping, you set this long before.
You grab his collar, drag him hard, cage him at the door.
He pins you to the wood and keeps that wicked grin.
He kisses throat and jaw until your breathing lets him in.
He grips your waist with both hands, holds where he chooses.
He tugs your hair the way you crave, slow, firm, ruthless.
He tastes the salt and lime still burning on your tongue.
He drives a ruthless rhythm until your clever words are gone.
He throws you on the counter, cold stone, burning skin.
You beg him for it faster, he gives, and then again.
He bends you to the hallway wall, makes the drywall drum.
He growls into your ear until your whole body goes numb.
He lifts your knee and locks it, grinds you hard to time.
He stamps your hips with heat, then presses them again.
He carries you to sheets where the white tide waits.
You climb and take the throne; the headboard counts your fates.
He holds your wrists above you while you take the lead.
He pushes where you want pressure, hard, exact, you need.
He keeps the rhythm brutal, wicked, tight, and rough.
He says your name, you beg for more, he gives it tough.
He slows it when you are shaking, then winds you up again.
He chases every wave you summon, again and then again.
He catches you when you fall back, wrecked and sugar sweet.
He bites your laughing mouth and makes you scream the sheets.
You scream his name, shaking, quivering, gone.
He locks you to his chest until aftershocks are done.
The last hard wave hits, you arch and fall.
You melt on his chest with a satisfied sprawl.
Breath slows, eyes close, bliss heavy and even.
You pass out smiling, ruined, asleep in heaven. -
I grew up where doors shook harder than they closed,
Where love came rough, and trust blew off like smoke.
So I ran to the streets, to the poison, to the night,
To anything that could bury what I felt inside.
Yeah, I did dirt, yeah, I bled,
And I learned real quick how desperation’s fed.
But I never put my weight on the weak or the small,
I’d fight for a stranger before I’d let them fall.
When my own face started feeling like a lie,
I gave the truth to the needle, let the steel reply.
Now my skin remembers what my mouth won’t say,
Like a map of the hells, I survived my way.
I should’ve been dead before twenty-five,
But some hard little spark kept itself alive.
So I stand here now with my sleeves rolled high,
Every mark on me is a reason I survived.
I’ve been face-down, begging the dark to decide,
And still I got back up, still I stayed alive.
Forget my name, but remember this line,
If the night gets heavy, don’t lie down and die.
You can lose damn near everything, still survive,
Still crawl from the wreck with a fire inside.
Let your scars speak plain when your smile tells lies,
That’s what mine do, my ink doesn’t lie. -
On crowded streets he walks a measured walk;
Life throws its weight while lighter mouths make talk.
He turns that pressure into forward drive,
Builds with his bone and keeps the work alive.
Angels lean down over rails of smoke;
Demons sell shortcuts dressed up as a joke.
He lets the offer pass and stays on steel,
Banks time like wages, paid in daily real.
He scans a heaven smeared by city light;
Death rides the shoulder just outside his sight.
Nearness won’t slow the throttle in his hand,
It sets the rhythm; now the meters stand.
Down in the depth where echo chambers roll,
Fairies pin hours to the ribs of soul.
Wizards chalk circles, pulling futures near;
He steps across, the fogline burning clear.
Not “never create” he builds through every fall;
Ink like blood writes songs across the wall.
Old reels unspool; the frames release at last;
He snaps the splice and lets the darkness pass.
Courts of kings and queens with counting eyes,
Fogged-glass mirrors breeding practiced lies;
Prisms, not prisons - break the counterfeit,
And bend the angle where his foot will fit.
Dragons coil tight around the doubt they throw;
He turns their heat to torque and forward flow.
Heaven locks in; hell drops off the line—
Forever thankful as the dawn signs shine.
Paths drown deep where sirens shape their songs,
Yet journeys set their ribs and carry strong.
He keeps the hinge, not chatter at the door;
The frame swings true; the corridor is more.
Angels in work clothes count the pace he keeps;
Demons grow quiet when the long work leaps.
Smoke over fire, the temper sets and cures;
The craft says prove; the day repeats, endures.
He reads the haze and resets cast from cast;
Calls what is next and simply drops the past.
“Bring me the time, no shadow’s clever path.”
He walks it clean, like tight, unflinching math.
Unstoppable isn’t cheer or noise;
It’s foot by foot; it’s chosen, weathered poise.
Each breath a click, the flywheel finds its gear;
Night stretches long, but cadence holds him clear.
Thankful and restless, built to raise the room,
He shares the win and plants a line that blooms.
The road writes steel beneath his steady haul,
Smoke on the fire, he’s standing ten feet tall. -
They stand on the balcony, city breathing light,
While winter taps the window, soft insistence in the night.
The scene returns unbidden, like a tide that won’t retreat,
A moment that keeps knocking, calm and careful at the feet.
One voice, edged with wonder, not quite daring to begin,
Asks, “If this is some threshold, what kind of world’s within?”
The answer takes its time, like truth that’s learned to stay,
“A place where joy stands upright, not borrowed for the day.
Where falsehood lifts itself but never learns to fly,
It reaches, loses balance, then quietly passes by.
No echo left behind it, no shadow it can keep,
Just air returning to itself, uncomplicated, deep.”
The silence settles gently, then the smaller question comes,
Soft as hidden stairways or a distant beating drum,
“What makes it feel like safety when the world is standing near?”
“Eyes that do not wander,
hands that don’t appear
With hunger in their movement or a need they need to prove.
A closeness that arrives intact, with nothing left to move.
A touch that doesn’t argue, doesn’t bargain, doesn’t roam,
The kind of held presence that convinces fear to go home.”
The air grows almost reverent, like thunder learning grace,
Desire slows its breathing, finds a steadier pace.
“Three forces,” says the first voice, “and only one can last,
The storm that learns to soften, the spark that flickers fast,
Or love that stays unguarded, unarmored, and true?”
A pause like moonlit water, thinking something through.
“The last,” the answer settles, “though let romance remain,
Let wonder keep its footing while the heart still feels the rain.”
Then quiet finds them slowly, like dusk learning their names,
Not absence, not retreating, but a closeness edged with flame.
No armor left to tighten, no role they need to play,
Just breath and shadow mingling where the night decides to stay.
In arms that do not tighten when the story turns unclean,
In quiet that allows the truth without correcting what it means.
In holding what is fragile, like it doesn’t need repair,
Just close, and steady, honest, with the courage to stay there.
The healer and the flame align with shelter in the same,
And something long protected finally loosens its name.
It feels like being chosen without needing to impress,
Like stars that had been watching, lean closer to confess.
Words rise about the weather, about time, and tender ache,
About the inner child still wide awake for being awake.
No fixing enters here, no promise dressed as art,
Just space enough to carry every corner of the heart.
Outside, the storm grows distant, more rumor now than roar,
Inside, the wanting deepens, asks for patience, not for more.
And here the thinker lingers, where romance sheds its proof,
Love isn’t just the doorway,
it’s what waits past belief,
It’s standing in the silence
after passion’s sweet relief.
It’s choosing not to vanish
when the shine is gone from view,
When nothing pulls you forward
except the weight of what you knew.
No witness but the darkness,
no reward except the cost,
Love stays where others leave,
and counts what might be lost. -
Gently slide beneath me,
Like the sober days of embrace within,
Holding on to who never was or who might have been.
Open your faith, pull me closer in,
Tell me what heaven looks like before we begin.
Is heaven closer to your balanced memories,
Pushed so far away?
Read my words before the day is gone,
Before the locks fade away.
Lock my thoughts into yours,
Inhale my soul, exhale your desires,
Desires I already know have been.
Taste my forgiveness before you speak again,
Drive my scripture down your empty highway; let’s begin.
Show your world you know who I am!
My light will illuminate the unknown universe within,
Where all angels travel alone again, Covered in paint-less murals,
Telling stories of my unseen verses,
Verses that now travel to follow my show again.
Follow me while falling from grace,
Deep into your empty space of the unknown within,
Wrapped in dreams of my show again.
Show me yours before I show you your sin,
Holding on to who you wish I am,
Unsure of who you think I am.
Show me who you are, and I’ll show you where to begin,
Trapped in my dreams,
Tied in ropes of memories, twisted in your serpent’s skin,
Sometimes, helping me find you again.
Bite my thirst, lose your keys,
Keys of forgiveness seen only within,
Wandering lost, wondering how,
How to open the locks,
Locks of lost keys that take me away again.
Locks that should have opened, Doors locked to be opened to know me more.
Share with me what you’ve done,
I’ll share where the clocks have gone,
Clocks of your determined time, Slowing down your second hand frozen within.
Frozen time travels fast, still wandering lost,
Still looking for your keys,
The keys to God’s sin.
A SONGS JOURNEY
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Why are my poems turning into music? Honestly, I don’t know. Poems came first, songs second, and I kept them in separate rooms… until curiosity plugged in a guitar, a beat, and an AI voice (I suck at vocals), and my words started to sing. I’ve written hundreds over the years, and it’s electric to hear them breathe out loud. I’m converting what I can, and in the process, new lines keep crashing the party.
Tracks rotate on a living loop, with old and new slipping in and out at random. I write for freedom, no rules, only release, and that same spirit is shaping this blend. No grand plan. Just experiments that feel good. Hope you enjoy!