I'm up with the particals
Floating around on beams

My body's down there
Chained between the screams

Forever fading distant
My fallen memory

Which now
faster than the speed of light
comes flooding back to me

Though current course is full of bliss
a yearning pulls me back

The hearts of all i'll love and miss
derail me from bliss track

So i re-enter
between the screams
to don my chains once more

To battle through
these cold dark dreams
for those who i adore

No one has
ever given me
anything greater
than time, light
and silence.

Time to work.
Light to see.
Silence to think.

What could mean
more than these?

   ~mce

how small I am until I disappear altogether

I visit the old mill by the creek.  
It hasn't ground a grain in a century.
A ghost of wood and steel and history.
How it still stands is a local mystery.

I want to buy that old mill by the creek.
Rebuild it with glass walls facing the waterfall.
Use the water for electricity.
In the summer, when you visit me,

We'll swim in the pond, it'll be my own pool.
Sip beer on the rooftop, be rockstar cool.
In winter, we'll ice skate my frozen backyard
Before fireplace, whisky, snacks and cards.

I'll build you a guestroom on all three floors.
And secret rooms behind hidden doors.
The automn rains will pound at the wall  
And sing with the sound of the waterfall,

And the song will be that of the miller's ghost.
The house might be mine, but he's still the host.
He loves that his workplace has now become home.
For a hundred years, he's been there alone.  

He'll laugh with the kids of my visiting friends.
He'll dance with the women, and when the fun ends
He'll sit on the rooftop with a ghost cup of tea,
Walk by the willows and thank God for he

Who took the mill ruins and rendered them "home";  
A palace by water of wood, glass and stone.
I thinks of these things, when I visit that mill.
And thanks to my dreaming, it's standing there still.

Death used to frighten me, keeping me awake
at all hours of the night.
Thoughts of my own mortality would arise
in the strangest situations, at the strangest times,
disturbing my relative piece of mind
with the recognition of the impermanence of that mind itself.
I knew that someday I would not be thinking of death-
I would not be thinking at all.
I would simply be a part of the ground
or dust sitting in a vase in the room of someone I have not yet known-
dust now, dust then, what's the big difference?
Well, one of us realizes our own dustiness.

Now, death seems more like a vague invitation
with no set due date for a reply.
Perhaps I have already rsvp'd to Death's invitation
simply by being alive,
but the event seems unknown, far in the distance.
Now sometimes it seems favorable
to invite Death over myself for a more intimate evening,
but it is a hard choice to make,
and one still bringing so much dread.