Dreams of Hypocrisy

If dreams came true I would be able to fly

If dreams were real I would be very clever

No suffering and I shall never die

Ties from the darkness forever sever

No hunger nor shall illness strike me down

If dreams were real riches upon riches soon flow

Dreams are false in calm waters I still drown

Dreams are fake running towards my sorrow

If dreams were real you would be my angel

If dreams came true we would be happy together

But dreams are lost, my heart is now mangled

My dreams lie to me we are not together

You plague my every moment, nothing’s fine

If dreams were real then you’d surely be mine

He Is Immortal

He is immortal

He is the memory of once upon a time

He is epic speech at half time

He is the teacher

He is the three lock box

He is the swat in the back of the head when I mess up

He is the shouts of motivation when I fall

He is the news everyone talks about

He is the great phenomena

He is my best friend

He is my Dad

The Invisible Man

 The masses fly by

They ignore the invisible man

He reaches out

They pay no heed


They ignore the invisible man

His cries fall on ignorant ears

They pay no heed

He begs for help, but they don’t listen


His cries fall on ignorant ears

They don’t care about him

He begs for help, but they don’t listen

He could die right there and no one would see


They don’t care about him

He’s merely a shadow on the wall

He could die right there and no one would see

The world too busy for the invisible man


He’s merely a shadow on the wall

Footprints on his back

The world too busy for the invisible man

Silently he cries


Footprints on his back

He reaches out

Silently he cries

The masses fly by


On the typical sunny Saturday afternoon during his drive home the ecstatic archeologist Kenneth Richards is marveling over his latest find. He holds up the mysterious and ancient artifact that resembles a gory human war figure, a “tiki” as he enjoyed calling it. The discovery of this tiki could mean a potential breakthrough into the history of the area’s mysterious Native American tribe as well as a possible payout of millions of dollars by the Historic Artifacts Preservation Committee.   

Kenneth was too busy admiring the work of art to pay attention to the extremely curvy road. His distraction caused his Prius to swerve dangerously off the road into a long abandoned brick wall ravaged by vegetation and erosion. The Prius was in horrible shape.

The windshield mimicked a labyrinth of crevices encircling a dagger-like rock projecting merely inches from the man’s face. The driver’s side window was no longer existent and neither was the precious tiki. Kenneth immediately hitchhiked home to place an ad on the local classifieds Web site pleading for someone to find the heirloom.

Little did he know that underneath the very earth lay a secret society that thrived on goods scavenged from the surface. A lonesome scout, desperate to find something worth recognition, stumbled onto the ornate tiki and brought it with him down into the earth’s depths.

 The tribe’s leader was surprised that such an artifact surfaced, but was displeased for they needed food, not a tiki. So the tiki was placed in a separate room until they knew what to do with it. A well proved tribesman stumbled across this secret room and stared into the gaze of the magnificent tiki, and he began to hear it speaking to him. The voices in his head made him flee the room in complete terror.

That night he dreamt of a young maiden. The dream was a great one until he began strangling her. He awoke in a terrible sweat, and short of breath, he darted out of his room to check on this woman…she was missing. He continued to be tormented by the mysterious voices in his head and the gory nightmares.

The other citizens of the underground facility began to take notice of the strange disappearances, then one day a man decided to check the long abandoned lower levels of the old burning room to find a slew of disemboweled corpses.

All the people rather than trying to find the murderer fled from the underground terror in fear of their lives…all except for that one man. He stayed because the voices would not let him go, for years he was tormented by the tiki’s voice inside his head.

Kenneth Richards began a new expedition that allowed his discovery of the once-secret underground facility. Inside he discovered the horde of corpses, and in the direct center of the facility there lay a man, a man who had taken his own life, and in his grasp was the tiki Richards had previously discovered!

Before he knew what he had gotten himself into Kenneth had already pried the tiki from the dead man’s grasp, the voices entered his own mind and began to torture him. The murder of his family haunted him, until one day he went completely mad.

It is said that Kenneth Richards is still out there, tormented by the voices, killing many innocent people in hopes of silencing them.

What Would You Do If Tomorrow Disappeared?

Would you break down and cry?

Would you look back on those times when you were happiest?

Would you say goodbye to your friends and family?

Would you do something nice to those you betrayed?

Would you finally help those who begged and pleaded?

Would you give away your possessions to those who need it?

Would you accept your fate?

Would you curse those you despise?

Or would you make amends?

Would you ask forgiveness for the sins by which you are consumed?

Or would you slam God’s name in anger?

If it was your last day of life… would you rejoice knowing that it’s over?

Introduction to a personal narrative

Here I am once again, my feet sunken into the soft mat, the chirping of the crowd as they cackle about the previous matches and what plans they have for today. Except now the stakes are higher; today is the MIL Tournament for judo, whoever places first goes to the state championships.

My heart thumps as I bow to my opponent; he has been a rival to my success ever since I met him. Every practice there was nothing I could do to stop him, I could barely last a minute against him as every dream-filled attempt I made was countered with a violent slam that forced me to become one with the mat.

Now here he is once again his eyes overflowing with arrogant over-confidence, how dare he come out with that audacity? My heart became imbued with rage – a rage that was near animalistic. We came in and gripped each other’s gi’s tightly. Once again I could feel his vice-like grip, the same grip that once obliterated the hope I once had for myself…(read the rest of the story in the print version of We Digress, being released in May 2011.) 

This Is Just Another Poem About a Girl

 This is a poem that mocks my nihility in your eyes

In the hopes of earning your attention,

That you might care…

Because I see you, but you look right through me

Because you’re always in my thoughts, and I never cross your mind

And when I see you smile every day,

A smile dances onto my face, but quickly fades because I’m not the source of your happiness

This is the poem that displays my true feelings

Takes them right out of my soul and puts them display

In hopes that maybe, just maybe…you’ll notice me


My Makawao

Makawao is my favorite place to be.

Here I can see green hills glorious like emeralds glistening in the sun.

I can look down to the ocean like the gods from Mt. Olympus.

I can look up to a sky as blue as the deepest ocean.

I can hear playful dogs barking,

Majestic horses neighing

And the local music blasting

I can feel the cool makani winds

While I wander the green abyss

I am going to miss my Makawao


My Friend the Liger

I had a liger that was my friend

He would lie on the car till it would bend

He is the only friend I have

Because he bit the rest in half


Sorry, I Was Wrong

Sorry, I was wrong…

I was wrong.

How did this all happen?

Because of you I can never be strong,

But I know that doesn’t justify what would happen.

I could apologize for an eternity

But my cries fall on deaf ears

Left in the dark for an eternity

Left to play with my fears

For revenge I used to thirst

All I can say now is, I’m sorry

But you hurt me first



From the darkness came a sound… It was that thing, the monstrous, wretched, gnarled figure of a man consumed by revenge. I was out on my Sunday drive and when I turned the corner he came speeding at me, he was in my lane. We crashed and immediately upon impact I fell unconscious, I know this because I awoke outside of my vehicle lying in the middle of the park staring up at his ghastly mutated face screeching at me “Boom! Boom! Boom!” why is this man forcing me to crash and now this? I wanted to get up and run away but my leg was broken.   

He put his face way too close to mine and I was able to smell his death-like breath, it reminded me of the stench of a dead animal is rotting on the pavement, cooking in the hot sun. He raised a gun to face and just said the same thing “I make you go boom.” I begged for both my life and an answer to why he wants to shoot me.  He reminded me of the time I was a tax broker, according to him because of me he was forced into bankruptcy, he lost everything he owned because of me, and even his wife left him. This poor man, what have I done because of me I caused this man to go through such obvious pain? “Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.”Sobbing, I told the man whose face was bleeding and secreting revenge that I am no longer a tax broker, but due to an inheritance I could buy him a new home, a new car, anything I wanted both my life and his to be saved. He just simply raised his left hand, pointed to a shimmering golden ring that mirrored my fear stricken reflection; and he placed the gun on my head and whispered…“boom.”

1  quote by Samuel Johnson


There It Is

There it is,

What is it supposed to be?

Is it me?

What is it?

An enigma

A beautiful work of art,

Pathetic excuse of an art

An enigma

This riddle amazes some,

Yet it confuses others

And it angers others

This riddle sparks thought in some

Intricately weaving emotion with thought

It makes sense to me,

As for you…it doesn’t have to be

Digging deep into my being, I wrought

Twisting and turning, delving deeper

This riddle confuses even me

Perhaps I am too blind to see

I need help with this riddle, I seek the reaper

Depressing to some, revealing to me

This riddle sets me free

But from my grasp I won’t let it flee

This epiphany is too much a paradox of me


Writing Philosophy

Writing is how we maintain the connection between mind and soul.



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