There’s a dried paintbrush in the bottom of a drawer of an unsuccessful artist
He sits the edge of his bed wondering what else he could do with his life
This city only sees him for his past
So he travels distant lands, to hills found only in stories
Leaving only a note
‘Let your body be your canvas’

A boulder lays in a stream for centuries
The trickling water slowly smoothing it’s rough edges
Ending up a pebble at the bottom of that unforgiving stream
Slowly being covered by others
That little pebble, is still a boulder

Dimly lit motel rooms
Dried tears of runaways on the vintage carpet floor
Emotions stain the walls like cigarette fumes
There’s a bible in the nightstand drawer
A reminder that there’s a piece of peace hidden amongst the chaos

A field of yellow roses
All with their own magical aspects
A lone red rose exactly thirteen feet from the forest edge
Different than the rest
It’s our imperfections that make us graceful

Take a step forward
Smiling, and graceful
A pair of bubbly cheeks
Waiting to be called
Beautiful

We give power to words
Turning pens into swords
We’re lost to which is mightier

The definition of family has no meaning anymore
Christmas bells no longer make a crisp sound
Turkey basters have lost their ability to enhance a golden brown taste
A family extended by arms
Are more divided than united
The definition of family has no meaning anymore