Born into a world colder then glacial tidal waves, yet naked in the sun of tomorrows we forever wait.

Wondering where the light began, how the showing of brightness produced the fractal pattern complexity unending.

Blink, but do not give away illumination for the lone black vacuum tumultuous constant of anti-nothing that cradles all things with mass.

Holdfast to logical constructs that articulate a suitable fashion, not those worn until their withered threads broke the binding of founding to an untested journey of life.

Of, intentional sacrifice of habitual mainstays that dust has long removed the visible passion to once it had belonged.

A burning inside for something tangible that out runs a heart alluding capture at every grasp.

How does one contain a pyroclastic flow of emotions that pour from a soul breaking oceans down to their knees, vomiting dirt and dust, while begging the stubborn clouds for water?

"We owe no compensation for the loss of liquid you horde, for the cost required to return you cannot afford".

Much too is the passion of a human heart, hasty to burn in a quickened rush, ending in an overly lamented rust.

But not all fires simply burn out, some roar, some kick, and many shout, and it is not the fear that they will die.

It is the belief that something ancient pulls through the lone black nothing to those born of even stranger tides igniting a raging inferno.

Showing candles burned at both ends can begin old emotions in young hearts that have never known a solid direction for passions unbound by limitations of vacuum insanity.

In 56 days, my life will amazingly change
In 56 days all old habits will feel strange
In 56 days, I will not be the same man
In 56 days I will hold something precious in my hands
In 56 days, my heart will being to melt
In 56 days, I hope that she will be out
In 56 days, the world will welcome someone new
In 56 days, I will be the happiest person you ever knew
In 56 days I will be a father to a daughter 
In 56 days I will forever be kinder and softer
In 56 days I get to meet my baby girl
In 56 days, I get to show her off....to the world!!

Underneath the microscope are all the fissures, cracks, and faults.
Trying to find the density of what things matter to us most.
Yet not all aspects have a visible measured weight.
Some may never tip a scale while others make our whole world shake.
We cannot change the way the seconds beat the clock.
Nor can we know the length of a road our feet have never walked.
Stumbling over mental cracks that turn to fissures facing faults.
Are we at the edge, or already falling as we try to magnify what matters to us.

Falling ever backwards into the black again
A revolving darkness that warps me up tightly never ends
There is only so much control an id can take
Only so much pressure for the ego cracks and breaks
Feeling like Pluto missing the light and constant warmth
With the weight of the world holding me from moving forth
Who can pull me from this hidden gap
What can release me from this mentally manifested trap
A pitfall that always seems to drag me in
The rut that makes me begin to hate my skin
Darker are the thoughts of death that constantly creeps like a flood that will never cease
Until She reaches for me in the darkness to be the light of my release.
She is the tiniest spark of hope that never dies
She is the one that saves me as she looks into my eyes
Always close to me, but yet so far away
I wish I could reach for her…reach for her everyday
But depression holds me tight like a demon to a soul
SO until I beat this darkness, I feel I will never be whole

Tender are the moments spent on cloud pillows with blanket memories
Once solid visions turn to merely smells of a gusting by past
Recollections found in the wind taste of a sweet spontaneity
Held by hearts that never let go, and minds that casually forget
A thumping from within never quiet beneath the skin
To the dreams ran away from that fill watery eyes
Merely to awaken to an empty world that a heart may despise
Never to return as the sun does after the coldest night
Defining a realization that alone, now, one must fight
As the half that promised to never leave has all but gone away
Yet always trapped in daydreams, in an almost timeless kind of way

Dustlings floating endlessly pursuing and drifting further into a vastness,matter painted black.

Searching for a destiny light millennium slow dance of heaviness, a gravity worth hanging around.

Airless gasps of constant revolutions, all states of matter form a convolution, hourglass sand falls in ordered disarray.

Gathering momentum to claim a position, spherical designs by the equivalent precision, strategically placed masses with fertile substrate.

Still honor dictates that I must confess, making bright vivacious planets is the best, even if only to devour them in the end.