Do not go gentle into that good night.
Or do and slip away--caressed by cool release.
Without a ripple, slip beneath the quiet waters.
How futile to fight the dying of the light!
The earth will turn and soon you matter not at all.

Rage not Achilles--
for gods, nor men, nor efforts they employ may stop the ceaseless march of time and inevitable decay.

I hope the multiverse theory is true
and there’s infinite me and infinite you.
And due to the nature of infinite chance,
there’s a world where we have had time to dance,
there’s a world where we’re happy,
a world where we’re sad,
a world where I’m playing mom and you’re playing dad.
In one universe I was never born.
In one universe your ACL’s torn.
I’ll cry for the worlds where we’ve never met,
but in one world you’re Romeo and I’m Juliet.

It’s because I’ve been wanting to text you,
but didn’t want you to think I was planning
on texting you at a certain time.
So I wait til two minutes past the hour,
just long enough to seem random,
but not so long that I explode from impatience.
Exploding is an FDA acknowledged side affect of impatience,
in case you were wondering.

Where heroes slumber
the hills are just as green as
the graves of villains.

This word is unspeakably tragic.
Love lost is no love at all.
No sorcery, witchcraft, or magic
Can bring back love that is gone.
Orpheus thought he had found it
His music came oh so close.
But one glance over his shoulder
And true love truly was lost.

You might find me silly and vain, and quite possibly insane.
I didn’t stop from humility, but from futility.
Cause I was tired of screaming and fighting
and the dogs they kept biting
and scratching and begging and pleading.
It was me they were needing.
And the harder I pulled away, the more I had to pay.
I think of the pain, standing in the rain,
looking up at the sky, pretending I could fly.

7 is such a sharp number, pushed in between the sensuous curves of 6 and 8.
All awkward angles and points, 7 is not a graceful number.
It’s odd. And sticks out in all the wrong places.
6 and 8 bend like dancers,
Swaying or flowing as natural as the breeze.
And poor 7 sandwiched in between them, like a middle school kid,
all unsure and out of place.