I may love the silence,
The night sky,
The lights on the horizon of those still awake,
But one thing I do not enjoy about being a night owl
Is that most times there is no one else to enjoy it with
Other than the moon.

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.

As artists
We want to hold on to our creation forever
We want the reader to interpret our art with our intention
We want to control
But the truth is
Once we release our art into the world
It becomes common property
And belongs to the world
We do not get to dictate
How our art will be received
Or whether the viewer must laugh
Or cry
Or become nostalgic
The purpose of art
Is to let it go

We walked in with the snow
Carried on drifts
Talking to the ghosts of those
We had left behind.
The sun fought in contrast
To the biting air of  the frozen landscape.
Our breath visible proof of life
As we trod crystals underfoot.
Strange monuments marked our journey
Charred sculptures of wood
Dotted throughout the forest.
I searched for you
Halting the path of strangers
All to no avail.
We passed boulders of burial grounds
Heads bowed in silence
As we continued to follow the spirit paths
Of these haunted lands.
Walking towards the future
Where we only met our past.