Impossible sounds rip through the darkness that most aren't willing to explore
The shore is there but after a while
It isn't even fathomable that it's there
Slipping
Slipping
Farther and farther from sanity
The most horrifying thought occurs
Does it even exist?
Some places are scoured over and over, every inch available for the world to see
Other places are too dark to be bravely discovered
Currents are pushing and pulling all in different directions
Some things are lost, never to be found
Sometimes people will pass, all laughing and smiling
Most of the time though, there isn't a soul around.
The cries don't even seem to be coming from this body
Surely they're from somewhere else
But the cries don't die down
They get louder
Louder
Until they are so unbearably soul wrenching that they are forced to be pushed down and drowned out
Never to be heard again
Hopefully
But the ones who care to dig deeper no doubt will come to know those cries well
But as for now
It's still
And quiet
And lonely
The question is:
Am I talking about the sea,
Or am I talking about me?

I was in love with her,
But she could never know;
For I was just the matter
And she was the soul

inspired by
simple notes played
on such a simple-looking
instrument that holds
so much more behind
its plain facade.

the right hands
can make the strings
hum like they never
have before.

i could sit here
all day, listening
to the right hands
play their complex
melodies on simple
two-toned keys.

even listening
to learning
is fascinating
when the right hands
are learning something new
that will soon be
breathtaking.

i sit here creating,
unaware of my progress
as he sits there playing,
unaware of his.

fueled by the right hands
are both of our art forms,
both revisiting where
we haven't been
in a while.

maybe i stare too much
but i can't help it,
i'm inspired.