People say if watch yourself die within a dream you die on the outside
But how come with falling of the sun and the rising of the moon
I watch myself die, I watch that fatal event The day I was taken from my beloved... The day I died
A memory oh that memory I pray to be just a dream
The pain it still lingers
I can still feel the touch of hands, his lips upon mine his smile oh his smile
That haunting image that appears only when I rest my eyes
I think now maybe their right
Because I die everynight knowing I can only see your through my dreams

My heart a black hole of never ending loss of emotion
My mind a vortex of space consuming all
My soul it seems ancient
My body a shell an image that is not me
a false assurance
Nor am I man or women
I am a being
I am a soul with history, with compassion
I am a seeker wandering realms of death
I am one who writes from the deepest caves of mind for the world to see
I am me

Is this what it's like to be a poet?
To taste every goodbye, to feel every moment?
To feel every detail, to see every flaw?
To kiss every star as the night starts to fall
To fall in love with the way the sunsets
To dream of the birds from dusk to dawn

Is this what it's like to be a painter?
To find it captivating the way the earth moves
Mesmerized by your very own torment
Never caring if anyone else approves
Ingenious, stamped across your forehead

Is this what it's like to be an artist?
To find beauty in the pain that transcends
From the demonized garden growing within?
To find something alluring in the way
*People walk away

Day by Day
with the pain
hidden within
your eyes
Day by Day
with the lies of
reassurance
Night by Night
the clock ticks by
collecting another
breath
Night by Night
lying awake with
fears your smiling
face won't greet me
morning come
Day by Night
my hero fades

A magical place in the forests of old
Where thoughts have wings and,
Souls light up the paths,
Rain floats in midair and laughter runs around playing with childish stories
Why you ask where such a place exists?
Well dear in your dreams
What dreams? My dreams died with Hoffa long ago
Now I'm slaving over a lawn mower and feeding 5 kids with a shovel and a ***
I can't tell stories, unless it's about work
Daddy can you tell me a bedtime story?
Yeah... If it's about grass cutting and dung thrown into dirt
Sweet dreams, well that's only make believe. Want a sweet dream look in a fairytale, because they're only for when you sleep, when you wake its back to reality
So no more dreams just hard work with reality. Well everyone has a dream even you it's something no one can escape. So what dreams you say...
Well sleep and see there's dreams

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...