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                                 Even if the storm does cease, And in
                            your heart there lies in rapture, hope
                that next time with strength increase, we
             take torrential rains and winds disaster, live
                      to cast them off our hearts crusade, without
                       eyes wide open don't see the shore, the fear
in infinity infinities of unexplored ocean evade, of
                              who to trust I know no more. limitation.

Dealing with the mad
You have to find their logic
And build from there
Though it really can be said
There are many points of view

The signs creep,
Although it sounds cliche -
The little things:
The morning shave,
Feel but a blink...

A sigh revives
Any thoughts misplaced,
In memories lost,
To stress, and age.

The mourners come,
Each one set out
Along the way
From chapel door

To where the small
White coffin lies
And preacher stands.
One small red rose

Upon the lid,
To tell of love
And show the grief
Of baby dead

Which lies beneath
The coffin’s wood
Which was a tree
And proudly stood

But now it holds
Like vessel womb
A baby child
Within its tomb.

A hundred crows from all corners,
Flew into view, and whirled about,
As if the cracked earth set quaking,
As if the sky was tiding, sloe black,
What ominous undulations accrued,
What murderous tribulations due?
The very sound they made was tear,
Was tirade and all those black flecks;
Dark sparkles of sun, shadows of fear.

A crane
Shading in the evening twilight
Trails its smokelike wings.

Where do the willows weep?
Where wars are fought and corpses sleep,
Where time is stopped and love is fleeting,
And all the blessed take the beatings.

Where do the willows weep?
Where the wicked rest on council seat,
Where infants wail unconsoled,
With no one to love,
To have and to hold.

Tell me where the willows weep!
Where justice crawls and corruption leaps,
Where righteous men live in the streets,
Is THIS the place where willows weep?!

Is THIS the place where willows cry?!
Where only evil can satisfy,
Where wings are clipped and none can fly?
All "truths" are started with a lie
A lie that penetrates so deep,
It haunts the cities in late night sleep,
Into the children's dreams it shall seep.
Yes, this is where the willows weep.