Freedom unleashed
Took a shot or two to do
Pressed against the wall
Hot water soaking aching muscles as it falls
Breathing deep without a sound
Funny how you don't see the stress
Until it floats around
Let it down the drain
With the ***** water
Let yourself relax
Till the worries rinse off,
Into the ground
Where it's cleansed for another round.

No one comes along to take your hand
The path long left the map
Your footsteps are on an empty pass
Your shadow is the only company
On this singular path
Many will try and take you from it,
Offer safety in numbers in a broken system that long passed into yesterday's abyss
Fight for who you are
And take no one's word for wise
The guide is you and the path is only for your eyes
Embrace the life you have
The show will not last
And this illusion will have lost its chance
Learn what you can and make it last
The steps on this path are yours to find
Take it in stride
Leave the masses behind
You'll be alright

If you went to war over me,
Would you claim subtlety?
If you killed another over me,
Would you weep for them and me?
If you died in my arms,
Would you remember when I kept you warm?
If you must fight over me,
Know I'll accept you as I do with every child that's come to be
I'll cover you in the dirt and keep you safe hoping for the day you'll see you never had to die over me.

Like a painter with a fresh canvas
Oils waiting and brushes ready
A writer uses words to convey,
The feeling of a spring day and the heartache of a lover gone away.
Stripping the feeling to write what is overflowing inside,
A writer writes.
On a later day if they chance upon their work they read what once was said
An emptier version of themselves now that the feelings are dead,
The words are hollow until they read the stains,
What wasn't said and left for imagination's sake.
To write and never know if you'll feel the same,
A hollow pursuit to tether a writer in place.
A reader becomes what the writer said and more importantly didn't say
They feel as the writer once did,
Passively undertaking words from another's heart.
A writer dies a little in each write but come the day when the body goes,
They come to life.

It was a difficult place to go,
Some old friends hadn't made it out.
Perhaps now they have. She thought as she set the flowers down and whispered their names.

A little boy came up next to her,
His face was smudged and his shirt was torn. She picked him up when she saw his tears. She asked if he came alone. He wiped his tears and nodded solemnly.
"Don't cry little one. This is only temporary." She said.

"Do you have any family here?" She asked. He shook his head as his lips quivered. She held him tight and hushed his cries.
"You'll stay with me until they come." She promised. He placed his little hand on the watery wall in front of them. Flowers and notes lined the vast wall as far as the eye could see.
"What if they don't come?" He asked
She smiled and looked at the roses she had just left. Yellow just like her mother loved.

"They always come. One guarantee about the living is they always die. We'll see them soon enough." She said as she held his hand and led him away.