Pride, lust, gluttony, anger, greed, two three one, three five two
They go hand in hand, all alone shadows dance, dark figures
Three two one, now I've got them trapped
A small box, shut tight, holding them within
Three one two, let me be, an..
..unwanted memory left broken, missing pieces, unfinished
Four one five, let me be, I no longer want to be a part of this torn painting

When our eyes met
blue to brown
And a smile played across your lips
In the midst of the lights and screaming fans
we stood *hand in hand

I get frustrated when people make assumptions about poets
They're sad
They're mad
They're all the same
Arn't we all poets? In one way or another?
Or couldn't we be?
Poetry is everywhere, in everything.
They're not "just words" and I don't think poets are one specific select group of people.
Everyone could be a poet, in one way or another.
Some just use different mediums: a poet of paint on canvas arranging it in a certain way to invoke a certain feeling of sorts.
A poet of body movement set to music.
A poet in there head thinking up combinations of words but deciding there best left unsaid, undocumented.
There can't truely be a poet stereotype... Because we're all poets... Or could be..In one way or another.

What do you do
When your all alone
And your mind betrays you

When your all alone and without much hope
How do you cope
How do you know that anything is true
When your own mind betrays you

When nothing is clear
And you seem to be filled with irrational fear
For nothing and everything at the same time
You cant go back, and you cant rewind

But you dont know what to do
Would anyone even believe you?
who can you trust?
as your life starts to collect dust
And you relize *its not only your mind that has betrayed you

The person behind the screen
Whats does your voice sound like?
You're just a picture to me
What goes through your head?
What makes your heart beat?
You're just a picture to me
What inspires you?
What gets you going?
What makes you tick?
What do you find frustrating?
Flustering?
You're just a picture to me
To the person behind the screen
I'm curious

Small
Minescule
Unimportant
**microscopic speck of dust in the universe

In the end
when the rain clouds have cleared
and the wind no longer blows
through good and bad
I'll be there

when things get hard and you're drifting
I'll grab you by the hand and guide you back to me
when you start to lose your balance and it seems like you might fall
I'll steady you and assure you everything's alright

I'll be there
through good and bad
when the rain clouds have cleared
and the wind no longer blows
in the end i'll still be holding your hand

when the mountains keep climbing higher and nothing's getting any easier
when you feel like you can't take another step
I'll be the shoulder you can lean on
we’ll climb this mountain together
you don't have to do this on your own

because what's the point in loving if i'm going to leave at the first sign of trouble
when your world has become a tornado threatening to be your undoing
and you don't know where to go
I'll do my best to be your anchor until you can find your way into the eye of the storm

In the end
when the rain clouds have cleared
and the wind no longer blows
through good and bad
I'll be there

I have no fear of this
I won't walk away
when all signs are pointing to a terrible ending
I'll take my pen and rewrite the story

When the sun shows itself once again
I'll be there holding your hand
through good and bad
I'm not going anywhere

Your anchor
your gravity
a shoulder to lean on
someone to rewrite this ending
I'll do what I can to be what you need

I'll be there
through good and bad
when the rain clouds have cleared
and the wind no longer blows
in the end
I'll still be holding your hand