Right from my fingertips
into your smiling face

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,

It's the days when you don’t cry,
But you don’t smile either.

It’s the days when you’re quieter than usual,
And people notice.

It’s the days when you aren’t quite thinking about anything.

But if someone asked you what was wrong,
You wouldn’t know where to start.

Sitting on the pew
Praying for warmth
Soon we will lose the evil breeze
That makes us lose the trees

As the homeless die and turn blue
Waiting for the train to salvation
Nature cries if you listen closely
"Peace is the last station"

The conductor calls
All aboard on Train 6 at 6 past 6

Never
   Give
      Up
        On
          Love

Never
   Go
      In
        Search
             For
                 Love

Never
   Make
      Love
         An
             Occupation

Never
   Let
      Love
          Confine
              You

Know
   You
      And
          Make
              You
                  Happy

Make
    Your
        Happiness
              Your
                   Responsibility