The skies above me falling down
No place to go to escape from it
Sometimes I wish it would just go away from my life
I’m lying out under the clouds
I’m sleeping through all my precious time
I used to waste my time dreaming of leaving this place
(Now I only waste it dreaming of home)

Chorus:

Turn upside-down and turn down the sky
All of the clouds rain the tears that I cry
And all the pain that fills me up will go away
Like the snow in the spring

The skies above me falling down
No place to go to escape from it
I used to waste my time on…
Waste my time on…
Waste my time dreaming of leaving this place
(Now I only waste it dreaming of home)

(Chorus)

I’ve got nightmares
While moonlight shines through my open window
I’ve got nightmares
While moonlight shines through my open window
I lay awake
The skies above me falling down

(Chorus)

Through troubled times of struggle, hearts were muddled, I'd dissemble,
I'd drop your hand, chest buckles, you withstand and reassemble,
you've restored so many times what I've tore down, disassembled...
you understand my loss, first hand, "I love you", your lips trembled.

Though record shows my deeds forgo your love, you're more than gentle,
refused the bounds of apprehension, tension disassembled,
unleashed affection, your devotion, yet emotions tremble,
there's something uncontrolled, it has a hold within, it's mental.

Your intuition, my acts of indecision, temperamental,
propriety, on my behalf, falls way short of monumental.
Your heart permits my love, undeserving, unconditional,
though reservations pull back elation, unpredictable.

I promise you my heart, my spirit, it's unequivocal,
you complete the parts of me I thought were integral.
Burdens, troubles, tension, dissension, all now invisible,
all replaced by exuberance I once thought was mythical.

Trepidation, dread, fixation on perceived forged fictionals,
bring forth false truths expected to be unpredictable.
Look forward, opened heart and eyes, keep close what's fundamental,
I understand your fear, first hand, "I love you", my lips tremble.

Why do you push me?
Is it because you know I'm already so close to the edge?
I can only be pushed so far before I fall off,
But maybe you already know that.
Maybe you want me to fall,
To be bleeding,
To die
On the jagged rocks below.
Maybe that's a bit dramatic.

Or maybe you don't want me to fall,
Just to be so close to the edge,
So very close
So that maybe you can rescue me.
Maybe you want to go back
When our love existed,
If you can even call it love at all.
But I won't go back.

We had nothing but meaningless words
And lying hearts.
It wasn't our fault.

It was everything around us,
Inside us,
Above us,
Looking down on us,
Unintentionally destroying us,
Maybe like you, right now...
Not knowing that I'm so very close to the edge,
About to fall off,
To lie on the jagged rocks,
Bleeding because you pushed me just a little too far.

Maybe you don't mean to push me so far,
And maybe you don't care about getting back
What you thought we had.
Maybe I'm the one holding on
To what's best let go.

Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to listen,
To understand,
To wake up to the truth.
But I don't want to wake up.
It like it in my dream world,
It's perfect here.

Out there you never know what to think,
Believe,
Who to listen to
Or trust.
Maybe I'm not meant to exist in the outside world.
And maybe I don't...

And maybe you don't exist.
Maybe I just made you up,
And there's really no one pushing me.
I'm just walking willingly,
Maybe even running,
Toward the edge.

Or maybe
There really is no edge at all.

I wish for the ability to see through eyes of passion
looking inward
where it can be as warm and fragrant as spring
when the air is heavy
and the birds share secrets
not meant for me to know.

And it can be as desolate
as the city's midnight sky
when the clouds seem to sink into heaven's underground.

How beautiful is this?
Granting me the pleasure of the imaginary.
But still I can't keep from wondering...

How beautiful is poetry
when words are pebbles in your shoes?

How beautiful is freedom
when held in the hands of the clock tower?

How beautiful is peace
when it slips your grasp like the streams' fish?

The answer lies in how we allow our eyes to see,
whether it be our mind, our heart, or our soul.

The hard part is knowing the difference.

The rusty orange color
spotted with browns
clinging to life,
floating gently to the ground

wrinkled and crinkled
the leaf feels like leather
slowly it's dying
it's only the weather

such a lonely time of year;
the trees without leaves
they dry up and shrivel
being blown 'round my feet

as I watch them dancing
in the sharp cold breeze,
stinging my cheeks
and shaking my knees.

Pumpkin seed scent;
the smell of Fall
sprinkled sunlight
splashes them all.

yellows, reds and purples
the colors of their death,
so beautiful to our eyes
but to our hearts, maybe not yet.