I'm on a stairway to heaven
I wished for it at eleven eleven
Though it was a wish you'd figure
That it wouldn't be me to
Pull the trigger

We float on unkown oceans
In boats more made for land.
The sails have ceased to function,
And our boots are laced with sand.
The rudder is unresponsive,
The first mate seems quiet too.
The ship has started leaking,
Weakend wood and stale stew.

The course was never charted,
This was known among the crew.
A passage for the faint of heart,
The bard and the jester too.
These denizens of darkness
Embark with the morning dew.
Depart with mist horizons
To find the start of something new.

For months we sailed
Through winter times,
On waters cold yet still serene.
The memories of warmer climes
Seem like nothing but a dream.
Cannons fire, deckhands scream,
Ship splintered by the sea.
Driftwood caught in ocean's sway
Swept up then cast away.

We wage wars with words,
Whetstone sharpened wit.
Wounds win rounds of applause.
A pause,
While metaphors are mustered,
Rusted dictionaries dusted,
Cobwebs shed from unread shelves.
Pikes of pronunciation
Pick apart
Portraits of ourselves.
While poetry parries,
Prose pivots,
Prepares and rallies,
Stares down violet valley below.
The violence of lavender
Shines like silver in the snow.
A scent sentenced to silence,
Flowers on death row.

“Silly Poet,
What do you write?
What are you thinking
On this deep dark night?”

I’m writing a song
For my sweet love
who broke my heart
and left it burnt.

I’m thinking about
A sky grey
With ashes falling
Instead of rain.

“Oh, Silly Poet,
Let it be.
You can’t fix yourself
With a rhyme or three.”

The silly Poet laughs
And continues living all the lives
That were created
Through the silly poet’s rhymes.