silky moonlight glowing against the
***** window,
the dandy long leg tree
oh so familiar
and leaveless swaying
to the rhythm of the rain.
sharing the sky, orange candle
glimmers of cities far away,
coyote piercing the winter air
with howls of sorrow,
The hare must have gotten away.

many go with the flow,
easy and sloth.
fewer swim against it,
with fists that pierce the swelling tide.
but real free thinkers
step out of the current
to bend the river towards
a field worth growing,
for everyone.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
Money in the pocket of the biggest shareholder

Day by day, we grow older
Love is lost, hearts grow colder

So while you still can, you should hold her
Say what you feel, before you wish you'd told her

Don't stash your dreams away, in that folder
As you care less what they think, you'll get bolder

Listen to those, who need a shoulder
Let her live, don't try to mold her

Don't sell your soul, for something golder

People ask why they march,
is it because they're obstinate?
no, they want to represent veracity,
not cause havoc.
walking valiantly into the melee of police and riot,
not to make you feel contrite,
but to make you think,
to expose the affluent,
and stand up for the unlucky ones.
they're a garrulous bunch,
listening does not harm,
it only allows you to learn.

crows caw and fly south with the wind,
titanic clouds swollen with rain crawl over the mountain pass,
they turn the dirt to mud,
pampering the leaves of their hard day in the gusty sky.
the scenery is darker from my window,
but the earth is so alive.
that damp smell of a wet world,
words won't ever suffice
how cozy it makes me feel.

Wake up!
I've been shaking you
for a while now,
but you sleep soundly without care.
Wake up!
and when you do finally wake up,
don't yell at me for disturbing you,
or for the window I broke,
just smell the smoke of the flames below you,
take my hand,
and thank me later.

I listen to the songs they sing,
about the peace and the love,
about unity and compassion.
I stop,
and I hear nothing.
Why do you think they're always in my ears?
I keep them near to me.
artists are truly born somewhere other than earth,
they pass by on shooting stars
belting out their messages so sincere.
but does it actually hit earth,
or does it just turn to dust in the sky?