You smiled at me
You held me close
You promised me, looking me in the eye
You took all I was
You made me trust you
You made me love you
And now that you're gone, leaving behind my heart in a thousand pieces
Which piece am I supposed to follow
When I'm told
Follow your heart

Words are my imagination
As it fills the book of life
They are the history
Of humanity as we tell  
The story of life

It breathes life into a future of yesteryear and gives us the meaning of how to build our dreams on the parchment of life

As we hold it now and forever in our hearts to defend it from the pergatory of our past

If you're ever looking
for someone who loves you
Come and find me..

I will ask no questions
I do not promise empathy
Only presence..
What you feel is uniquely your own
And I am witness..

I don't claim to understand you
I don't think there is such a thing
How can I know how time shifts around you?
How can I know how you carry a world inside you?
If you're ever looking for someone who loves you,
I hope you find me

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

Preacher, don't send me
when I die
to some big ghetto
in the sky
where rats eat cats
of the leopard type
and Sunday brunch
is grits and tripe.

I've known those rats
I've seen them ****
and grits I've had
would make a hill,
or maybe a mountain,
so what I need
from you on Sunday
is a different creed.

Preacher, please don't
promise me
streets of gold
and milk for free.
I stopped all milk
at four years old
and once I'm dead
I won't need gold.

I'd call a place
pure paradise
where families are loyal
and strangers are nice,
where the music is jazz
and the season is fall.
Promise me that
or nothing at all.

I think of you always.
I see you
In a stranger's face,
I hear you
In a friend's laugh
I think of everything about you
That I loved
And everything I didn't
And I use our time together
As a template, a guideline
A checklist
Of everything to avoid.
I think of you always,
A toxic reminder
That I am better off
Alone.