All I've ever wanted was what you wanted.
For there to be nowhere else you'd rather be.
The years go by, but we are always the same.
What we are I have left up to you.
Now you want more and that's all I want too.
Two weeks or a year, it is still meant to be.
Yet, here I wait while you run from us again,
Only this time I cry...I told you I'd die.
No sense can I make of anything.
Why does it have to be this way?
What's wrong with forever?

So much to put down words come so fast they miss the page. Fingers fly to record overwhelming inspirations stalled mid stroke, concepts lacking a voice fall short of their purpose. An onset of perspectives require clarity and eloquence. With no existence other than silent sparks of thought, no value or construct, fleeting points of wisdom seem lacking. Efforts aren't taken or even considered. So full of insight unwittingly led to expression meets a void so consuming all hopes for preservation of thought disintegrate. Then existence never allowed to form so far gone only now recorded, yet existing in limbo--trapped for the period of space concurrently existing in the vacuum of my conscious mind.

Beyond the thoughts
that keep us bound
fear
suffering
anger  
love
we will fly
though it be fleeting

we savor
the height
while craving
the ground below
knowing
it takes both
to make
a soul