In visions of the dark night
  I have dreamed of joy departed—
But a waking dream of life and light
  Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
  To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
  Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream—that holy dream,
  While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam,
  A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night,
  So trembled from afar—
What could there be more purely bright
  In Truth’s day star?

The bus
was late
This morning
I miss you

One step, one shot, one final breath.
I walk through war, I talk to death.
He never speaks, but I still know
Not yet, not yet. There's more to go.

I have wounded mine own heart,
Yet naught but blood it yields.
Shall I forever dwell apart,
In failure's barren fields?

Must this scar, so crimson-red,
Proclaim me weak and frail?
Or doth my spirit rise instead,
And let my torment sail?

Shalt thou remain a failure evermore?
Or rise, and claim the strength thou hadst before?

I'd rather die young than fade into grey,
A song left unfinished, unsung to this day.

God willed my fate, but I’ve bent to none,
The drink I’ve spilled, the damage is done.

A flicker of a spark from the stone,
Flickers into ashes—let it burn.

Who's knocking at my window?
I hear you while I sleep!
Who dare disturb my own slumber!
Oh, it's only the birds,
The wind and the bare trees.
Still, I resent my bed,
The world wakes us for a reason.

If I am to die any time soon
Please, lord, let it be on a Sunday afternoon;
Let it be 15 degrees with a slight breeze;
Let it be under a soft sky with a purple hue;
Let it put an end to me feeling so blue;
As the aeroplane trails fade out of sight,
Let the blackbird song lull me into night.