Always to look myself straight in the eye; I don't want to stand with the setting sun And hate myself for the things I've done.

I don't want to keep on a closet shelf A lot of secrets about myself,

And fool myself as I come and go Into thinking that nobody else will know

The kind of man I really am;

I don't want to dress myself up in sham.

I want to deserve all men's respect; But here in this struggle for fame and pelf,

I want to be able to like myself.

I don't want to think as I come and go That I'm for bluster and bluff and empty show.

I never can hide myself from me, I see what others may never see,

I know what others may never know, I never can fool myself -- and so, Whatever happens, I want to be

Self-respecting and conscience free.

If you think you dare not, you don’t.

If you like to win but think you can’t,

It’s almost a cinch you won’t.

If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost.

For out in the world we find

Success begins with a fellow’s will.

It’s all in the state of mind.

If you think you are out classed, you are.

You’ve got to think high to rise.

You’ve got to be sure of your-self before

You can ever win the prize.

Life’s battles don’t always go

To the stronger or faster man.

But sooner or later, the man who wins

Is the man who thinks he can.

All you Mexicans, you must go

And all you poor folks, you must go

Muslims and gays

Boy, we hate your ways

So all you bad folks, you must go

The fog and the smog of news media that logs

False narratives of Gods that came up against the odds

We're not just n**** rappers with the bars

It's kismet that we're cosmic with the stars

You bastards overlooking street art

Better yet, street smarts but you keep us off the charts

So motherf*** your numbers and your statisticians

Fuck y'all know about true competition?

That's like a AL pitcher on deck talking about he hittin'

The only one who's hitting are the ones that's currently spittin'

We got your missy smitten rubbing on her little kitten

Dreaming of a world that's equal for women with no division

Boy, I tell you that's vision

And mumbled

And grumbled;

And then he bumped,

And everything tumbled—

Bumpyty-thump!

Thumpyty-bump!—

Houses and palaces all in a lump!

“Oh, what a crash!

Oh, what a smash!

How could I ever be so rash?”

The Earthquake cried.

“What under the sun

Have I gone and done?

I never before was so mortified!”

Then away he fled,

And groaned as he sped:

“This comes of not looking before I tread.”

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Where am I

today?

The dangers, all,

with their appliance,

hickishly gamey,

pitchfork-high

the heavensfallow hoisted,

the losses, chalkmouthed—you

upright mouths, you tables!—

in the disangled town,

harnessed to glimmerhackneys,

—goldtrace, counterheaved

goldtrace!—,

the bridges, overjoyed by the stream,

love, up there in the branch,

niggling at the coming-escaping

the Great Light

elevated to a spark,

on the right of the rings

and all gain.

and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows

near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted

who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled

this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,

our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,

its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods

meeting the unmarked strip of light—

ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:

I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you

anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these

to have you listen at all, it's necessary

to talk about trees.

Almost every single day

We don't share many words cause

We really don't have anything nice to say

I look at him with disgust

He looks at me the same

Both of look at each other

With complete and utter shame

He is old and gray

Bags beneath his eyes

Wrinkles on his forehead

He tries to disguise

The neighbors tell me

He has a heart of gold

He's never done anything for me

Besides act ice cold

But today something happened

That hasn't in quite a while

He looked at me, I looked at him

We both shared a small smile

We both quickly looked away

Back to quiet enemies again

You may fool the rest of the neighborhood

I know who you really are and it isn't my friend

Who he is really is

Is getting clearer and clearer

Because he meets me every morning

While I stand at the mirror

He looks back at me

Still with total disgust and shame

I look back at him

With only myself to blame

“There’s a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”

“There’s a prize for everyone,
Everyone, anyone,
There’s a prize for everyone,
Whoever he may be:
Crags for the mountaineer,
Flags for the Fusilier,
For English poets, beer!
Strong beer for me!”

As quiet as a mouse,

Who does the mischief that is done

In everybody’s house!

There’s no one ever sees his face,

And yet we all agree

That every plate we break was cracked

By Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door

By none of us are made;

We never leave the blinds unclosed,

To let the curtains fade.

The ink we never spill; the boots

That lying round you see

Are not our boots,—they all belong

To Mr. Nobody.

Were thickly crusted, one and all:

The rusted nails fell from the knots

That held the pear to the gable-wall.

The broken sheds look’d sad and strange:

Unlifted was the clinking latch;

Weeded and worn the ancient thatch

Upon the lonely moated grange.

She only said, ‘My life is dreary,

He cometh not,’ she said;

She said, ‘I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!’

A legacy of love

A Heavenly Father would content,

Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain

Capacious as the sea,

Between eternity and time,

Your consciousness and me.

Will hardly seem worth thinking of

To passionate women if it seem

Certain, and they never dream

That it fades out from kiss to kiss;

For everything that’s lovely is

But a brief, dreamy, kind delight …

It's nautical themed

And there's something I'm supposed to say

But can't for the life of me

Remember what it is

And if I could give you the moon

I would give you the moon

You are sick, and you're married And you might be dying But you're holding me like water in your hands

Take it over and over 'til you noticed me

If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed

I wanna be the power ballad that lifts you up and holds you down

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery And I can wish all that I want, but it won't bring us together

Heaven and hell were words to

me

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

l'lI crawl home to her

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm getting older too