Clouds,
I watch them they pulse,
beat,
with the earths living tempo.
caressing the sky.

I watch them change,
Mutate,
Become something else,
And really see a mirror.

I see my proverbial face in the clouds,
And I see you next to it,
One of the better changes in the clouds.

I can see other shapes to.
Indefinite,
Awaiting assignment of a shape,
A purpose.
Those clouds will become what I make of them.

What will I make them into?
A glass half empty,
Or a glass half full.
Or no glass at all.

We will see,
For the clouds cannot shroud the sun forever,
And eventually, the mask will be lifted,
Unveiling a new life, with you.

Evil, Mightypower,
Overcoming, sweeping by
Tidal wave of dark.
Suppression, needless
Jealousy, unreason.
Shard of hell,
Born from earth,
And broken ceramic.
Escaping freedom,
Smashed prison.
Feeding on conceited lies,
And acts of
Eviljoy.

My life feels busy and constricted,
events a thunderstorm, rumbling towards me,
they go by so quick, lightning zinging from the sky.
I wish I could slow it all down, watch the ***, stop it from boiling.

A dream long lost deep in the lines of time,
Still mourned but left for dead in times long past,
Though dimmed it will not ever lose its shine.
If forged how long will it be made to last?

I wait for things to change, for life to grow,
This thing will never cease to hold a sheen,
A pity if it was a fake, charade,
But I will never know what you have seen.

I always dreamed in dreams but never thought
That I would see the day that this was born.
In days as far from here as i can hope,
I will be once again, in black, alone.

As shallow as young hearts can sometimes be,
I hope you know how much this means to me.

I greet the morning balefully,
Not sure if I am sad or glad of its approach.
I mourn the comfortable hours of the night, and my warm bed.
My tired eyes grieve the lost hours of sleep,
Previously wiled away,
In front of the fire.
How could something we miss entirely, be so delightful?



But nonetheless, I drag my sore, half asleep body,
From the protective shell of my bed,
And greet the upcoming day.




There are good things about the day too.
The freshness of the breeze,
The clouds rimmed by the suns gold,
The chance of a new day.



I stand in the cold drive,
Waiting for the day to unfold,
and though I know,
Many good things,
May come about,
I still wish for my bed.

Feral mood swings give the elastic momentum to soar from the dark dredges,
As it was previously unthinkable.
From the glorious misanthropic lows, to a euphoric revelry or youth.

These golden days are replete with vicious change,
The growth plates of potential prosperity ease close with a snide unforgiving sentiment.
The bright orifices of the sky plunge into obscurity,
Only the imprints leave us dazzled, thinking the dream still holds an office.

But the endless chapters are truncated,
until the only thing left is the devil's ****, or his charity.
Bubbling youth to grim compliance.

In a wasteland of a thousand dreams,
One stands out from the others, serene.
It looks at the others with disdain,
Knowing all their hopes will be in vain.
He tries his best to win respect,
But its been to long, the others forget,
What happened all those years ago
May as well been just for show.