art is the child of pain
the son of rain
the blood within the vein
of a twisted child
young and wild;
an attempt to reconcile
hatred, baseless and faceless
a screenshot of the heart....
that is art.

Here I am
Looking at you watching me
As I see the world
Through your words
And I taste your truth
While we speak of youth,
Sitting on the pavement
Staring at the sun,
As if no one ever said
It wasn't safe.
Pondering the things we've done
Mistakes we've
Sown and grown
Into a lesson,
Talking of gods and queens
Our hopes and dreams.
I spilled my soul
Onto the concrete
As you stared in wonder
While I tapped my feet
To the beat of your heart.

Our bodies are conductors
of electricity
Sparks fly from you to me
igniting a fire
kindled by our desire
for freedom
in it's pure form
shelter from the restless storm
within our souls.
We are the flames reaching
high up to the sky
and the wisps of ash
as they pass
are the words we
whisper.
The wind ushers us along
while we sing the songs of nature
as it passes us by...
you are the best high I've ever had
and the low comes slow
as we float back down to earth
until we are ready
to fly again.

In the night we see shadows
envelop the light
all but the stars turn dark
as we watch our breath bond with the breeze.
As an astral being I walk
While we talk about life and death and love
as the moon above smiles
at this child like giddiness
we have discovered in each other.
He was born while the stars collided
an explosion of colors
and their truth was confided in him alone
while the stardust created his home.
She was spawned from the sea
as wicked and wild as waves
with a temper untamed, swayed by
only the tides as they changed.
Together, sea and sky they flew
high above the rest
bringing out only the best
in the other, two sides to a sword
that could cut through all of
the pain in the world.
He and she both knew of love
but never have two souls
broken the chains of this
mind numbing cage we call
civilization without
the help of another, be it friend
foe or lover,
the will to discover
new worlds.
As the dandelion flies
through the black, silken skies
they make a wish and lock it tight
behind their lips
until the time is right to let it
slip between their tongues.