Dear Air,
I just wanted to say...
You let me breathe you in and out,
And in and out,
In,
Out
Over and over again
It seems to be one of the
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We know
Without you I would not be the same.
I,
We would lie pale on the dark ground,
So vague that we appear
Colorless
Empty

Without you
I
Would not be the same
Nor would many of the others that crawl this earth.

We breathe you in and out day by day,
Is it painful?

I am glad I am not in your place,
To meet all the people you do
And to know them so well.
Giving them cold clear, and
Warm thick
kisses,
On lipstick covered, chapped, broken, and bleeding.
You still kiss them long and hard.

You skim across
In search of life.
What a burden that seems.
You are a saint
for having a care, saved my life.
Saved all that once were.
You go through the motions
With no more than... maybe not even
Praise
allowing me and many more
To live yet another day.

Dear Air,
I just wanted to say thank you.
You let me breathe you in and out,
And in and out,
In,
Out
Over and over again
It seems to be one of the longest eternities we know.

Without you I would not be the same
Nor would many of the others that crawl this earth.

We breath you in and out day by day,
Is it painful?

I am glad I am not in your place,
To meet all the people you do
And to know them so well.
What a burden that seems.
So I thank you for having a care,
And allowing me and many more
To live yet another day.

Sadness is a blue ceiling.
When against the blue skies
It is invisible,
It tries so hard to blend
With the crowd,
Mix with the crowd,
Becoming a part of it.

Sadness is a blue ceiling.
For it is only seen when alone at night,
Against black star filled skies.
Bright blue ceilings
Stand out,
Your sadness
Stands out.
It has got no where to fly,
Against the night sky.

The crystal clear glass,
Separates from me, out there,
The wondrous things.

The delicious taste,
Of sweet grass on my palate
Like the first candy.

Singing out, the birds,
What do they say, I am deaf,
For the window that...

The Rain,
It pitter patters down on rooftops,
telling stories,
singing songs.
The Rain,
it lulls some to sleep,
while other times shouting, banging on the roof,
trying to break in and soak all that lie beneath.
The Rain,
even named after itself,
the word rolls of ones tongue like
water
flowing
down
the sides of dark roads.
Rain,
both happiness and sadness are brought.
When sitting staring through blurred windows,
at blurred objects, not masked,
but softened, heard, understood
by the Rain.
The bleeding of the green leaves down the glass,
is the Rain diving into the tree,
and pulling out its emotions,
maybe not to read, but to
see,
to hear,
to discover.
The Rain,
it is a drumbeat to our own musical thoughts.
It brings sad happiness,
happy sadness.
It brings desire,
love,
and with that, hate.

It does not give,
but provides to ones seeking advice.
It tells to run,
to hide,
stay.
The Rain,
it reaches everything under the stars,
in some way.
Maybe never running down the face,
but it still leaves a mark.
So Rain,
tell me, do you search for us?
Or is it we, knowing or unknowing,
reach to claim your touch?
Is it your wordless advice
so different from monotony
is that what we desire?