I keep my answers small and keep them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bulwark to my fear.

The huge abstractions I keep from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.

But the big answers clamoured to be moved
Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.

Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, I still hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow

And all the great conclusions coming near.

On the brink of starvation
I find no motivation
From the anguish of a lovers lost touch
To the thoughts of....oh so much

My well has run dry
And I can no longer cry
I don't know what to do
How can I find me
And what has happened to you

Drawn apart are the seams of life
With no chance of repair
And nothing to stife
No not even a breath of air

I've gone blank with rushed emotion
With confusion bound in a place deeper than the ocean
Support for life is unknown
But as they say destiny is carved in stone.

For years so jealous I have been
Of those who excel with the brush
And envy those who make beautiful
A blank slate with the slightest touch

I tried my hand at drawing
Tried my hand to hide results
And my attempts at painting?
Rembrandt would label them an assault

But then I found a pen
And in this pen there was some ink
I found a page of blank paper
And sat down before I could even think

The words, they flowed like rivers,
Streams of life for the soul
Feeding my every desire
To reveal stories never before told

I have no use for charcoal
No use for chalk or paint
And a canvas is too small
Mocking me with its constraint

My pen is my paintbrush
Blank pages my inspiration
For my words are my works of art
*The beauty found in their formation

Mockingbird smiles, glimmering eyes and feathers soft,
All wings and claws and a sharp beak.
She sings no songs,
Murmurs no sweet melodies.
She cackles and screams,
Wicked and dark,
Twisted like paper tossed to the flames.

She's madness incarnate,
Desperation clings to her like cobwebs and mist,
She's always running away from the past,
Too afraid to let anyone close,
So terrified of being forgotten,
She never lets them know her.

Weak willed and bitter,
A cynic, a pessimist,
She's broken but never lets him see.
She's afraid he'll turn away,
That he won't understand.
She reaches for him,
Yet stops before she can even graze him.

She's ashamed of herself,
Of her insecurities.
She clings to trivial things,
Comic book dreams,
Stories splayed in fictional splendor.

She rambles because it keeps her from spilling truth,
Like fountains from battered lips.
She wants touch,
Honesty,
Something real.
She doesn't care if it's perfect.
She just longs for real,
For something lasting.

Her longing makes her always bitter.

We make a mess of beautiful things.
We scatter them across our floor like snow.
We lay in beds of pictural dreams
that nobody else but us know.

Moments upon moments of color ring
around our heads as we grow and grow
with grace upon grace held in our hands
like God himself is fighting for our side.

It's funny, I awoke from this dream with such open eyes
and to my surprise it were your eyes that cried.
If anything, it was I who deserved those tears.
We make a mess of beautiful things...

A special encounter is all you were to me
For a moment there I knew what it was like to be free
Though I had known you for only a minute in time
It might not have been long.... But for all that you were just mine.

I miss you everyday now more and more.
About you I have thoughts in galore.
These feelings never go away
For a special encounter you have more than made my day.
It is enough for a lifetime to keep me secure
With one special touch, a kiss or a whisper
You would invoke within me the greatest of pleasure.

OH NO...it was never love....it could never be...
Something so free flowing so easy and pain free
... could never be.
OH NO... It was never love... How could it be,
It was a brief encounter all it could ever
and would forever be.
A brief encounter so special to me.

Hustle and bustle is where we meet
The integrate city is what we greet
In the morning when we rise so early
In the evenings as we descend from glory

The day is long and hard,
But from our jobs we dare not part.
It is to pay a bill,
Or to keep one still.
An idle mind is free to its own devices,
in fact through its deeds might still surprise us.
We keep rather still.
A waste of life saved from living
Our dreams are worth what we've all been giving.

A restful peaceful night has come
And after one sleep again it is done
And once again the hustle and bustle is where we meet
And the integrate city is what we greet

the normal vision of the human way
is what we bring at first into each mind
in hope that when we are by fate confined
in the beige cubes of ordinary day
no creeping horrors will come out to prey
on thoughts that must to wider worlds be blind
for fear of just exactly what we'd find
if honest brain was let come out to play
but there are dragons just beyond the wall
the child inside will know though adults fail
so often just to open up their eyes
or let their ears adjust to hear the call
of beings greater than the normal scale
moving their wings across the winter skies

I see the light,
About to take flight.
Nothing can stop me,
Although my dreams are beyond me.

Filled with excite,
A touch of delight.
Greatfull for the light,
And all of a sudden life is no longer a plight.
So carry on the goodfight,
you'll never see the darkness of night.
For everything will remain bright,
You will rise to a new might,
And fly like a kite.

I see the light,
About to take flight.
My life is no longer a plight
I have become the light.