Snow pelts the window
And piles high like unsaid words
I hate how I love

O' sweet starlit dream
Soft you in the morning go
Fading in the sun

Let me be a leaf
Let me blow this way and that
Set me free my tree.

I am thunder and the rain,
A howling hurricane,
I wreck havoc,
Then fade fast away...

And you, a springtime flower,
Flourishing in my showers,
A shooting star against the moon,
Short lived and gone too soon..

Stay, just awhile longer....

Sweet new memories,
Is the sound the river makes,
Rippling on by.

I am a common man,
With a common touch.
I take my meals,
With a common cup.

With a common brain,
With a commen sense.
I view the world,
Threw a common lens.

I do common work,
With common men.
I sigh my deeds,
With a common pen.

I am a common man,
With a common heart.
I make my day,
With a common start.

With common hair,
And a common face.
I breathe common air
From a common place.

I have common struggles,
I have common falls.
Yet, most think themselves different,
That I'm not very common at all.

Where is my muse today?
I stare out windows at the grey
Wasteland filled with rain.
Where did the fervor go?
   Did it fly away,
To rain sodden trees,
   To fall and quench clay,
From budding twigs and stunted
    Leaves?
Where is the fire today?
Lifes cold, so dull and plain.
If I pray for warmth, will it stay,
Or be extinguished by the rain?
Where is the vigor,
   That filled my days in youth?
Why won't it manifest in adult figure?
   Was it exhausted by the search for truth?
Truth, what is it?
Is it found in flowers,
Or does each man write his own,
Sitting in a shady bower?
Truth, what is it?
   Will I find it if I pray?
So many questions, and here I sit.
   Where is my muse today?
I stare out windows at the wasteland,
Rain sodden trees, stunted leaves, all
   Grey,
Life made of clay, and will, to
   Undersand,
Questions posed by a spring day.