You led me down the mountain just like a raging river
My soul had no path, no less a nomad than a drifter.
You carried me as if there were no other way
No slow pace down the mountain – in your current, I will stay.
We’ve built an interdependency, your water begets life
But be gentle, my dear— water cuts just like a knife.
You maintain and sustain, bringing life within the rain.
Carving rivers into rock, your blood pumps through my veins.
Body to blood, and earth unto water
Propelling each other, we’ll make us stronger.

For the past year or so, I’ve been hearing some singing –
Or maybe it’s pounding…
Perhaps more of a ringing.
Though I’m not sure what it is, I know what it creates –
Some sort of bond –it would seem… To forge together our fate.
The sound is near ethereal… It combines our raw materials.
And while I can’t seem to find precision in an attempt for definition...
It’s been playing since we met –
It’s music with no musician.
But what’s a musician to music?  We only need nature to infuse it –
We’ve got music all around us, for us to listen as we choose it.

I think we chose the sound of steel in hopes of finding something real –
For as bad as it gets damaged, a simple fire is sure to heal.
This world can be a cruel place, and we’ve got the wounds to show it.
I’ve found life moves too fast, but your soul helps me to slow it.
With how we’ve been bombarded, our steel was sure to be discarded…
But the fires gave us shape… and our work of art was started.

So a sword is what we’ll be, the finest weapon of you and me –
And although we’re made of steel, we’ll keep growing like a tree –
More intricate and divine, as we stand the tests of time.
Free to be shaped, not burned, in our metallic design.

Cheated and defeated –
                  my mistakes, themselves, repeated . . .
A monster made of gluttony;
                  I’ve no option but to feed it.

I saw the writing on the walls,
           But, my feeble eyes had failed to read it.
Still... I’m not convinced that this warning,
        Was chosen by my eyes, not to be heeded.

Perhaps my head was the catalyst
           A byproduct of an acid trip;
           Had split this world in two.
Some for me, and some for you.
Maybe . . . this warning wasn’t meant for me.
Maybe . . . it’s for the second half of two.

“Ye kind-hearted shall not go forth”
                              … is what I believe it said,
But I can’t be too certain.  
                              After all, I’ve lost my head.
Which brings up some emotions -
                               Or maybe, they’re allusions?
But, I can’t tell through the hallucinations
                If these are real or illusory movements.

So the fish hook pulled me deeper . . .  
                       All the while, stretching skin.

                       I knew not about the rabbit hole
                       to which I just dove in.

It seemed a lot more like an alley when I first took a glance,
Once I took a second step, I guess I chose to dance.

               Oh, what a performance it’s been!  
                And we haven’t yet hit intermission!
                 Although, I’m not sure when that is…
                            As I seem to have lost my vision.

The Queen of Hearts shouted,
                              “Off with his head!”
But without a brain to notice,
      I couldn’t hear what she had said.
She said it before the guillotine dropped…
So was my brain already gone
                      When my head hit the block?

I’m not sure where to find the pieces.
                     I didn't know I fell apart.
                     I didn’t know
I was a headless servant
                    To the heartless
                    Queen of Hearts.

Now, without a head,
                   I’m trying to piece it back together.
And I’m worried that this rabbit hole
           just may have me trapped here forever.

So, I’ll trace my steps backward, to try to find my "forward."
But as I set my pace faster, I find I'm moving slower.
Things turn upside down, when you’re this far down . . .
And the carousel just spins – around and around.

Gaining speed, with increasing malice
I hopped right on
        And chose a different path than Alice.

Here we arrive again at choice, but was it one at all?
This is when I found the Hatter – where the bounds of logic fall.
He asked me why I was there.
             He said, “My boy, have you gone mad?”
And as I searched for reason,
                                          I concluded that I had.

Standing on the ceiling,
            we both watched the world, twirling.
Sipping from our cups,
            between the stirs of sterling.
We chatted over tea, and while I was now content with spinning . . .
My content grew simultaneous
with the Cheshire Cat’s grinning.
He looked at me and said,
                                      “Upside down, yet, you seem alright?”
I responded with a “Hm…”
                                        and my spinning turned to flight.

I flew from the table and
       As I questioned if I was stable,
I grasped for the air.
       And for the first time . . .
                                          I was able.

Apart from the question, I now knew that I was mad,
Because I gripped a fist of air,
                             knowing full-well it can’t be grabbed.
I swung through the air…
                                    maybe I flew . . . I’m not sure.
But as I passed over ground, I surveyed it for Her.
I looked for Alice as my guide,
                              but someone took her place:
The "heartless" Queen of Hearts
                                     and her over-sized face.
Was it the face? Or just the head?
                            What’s ahead without a face?
It seems I lost the bounds of logic
                                    upon my fall from grace.

Was I flying?
Or was I falling?
It seems that orbit was my calling . . .
Where, as high as I fly,
   the paradox of orbit keeps me falling.
Maybe I’ll stay out here, where it’s quiet by the stars
And there’s no signs to read;
               no catalysts for scars.  
But did I ever escape?
                Am I still in the hole?
I found among these fragments
          the completion to my soul.

Somewhere between falling and flying,
              I told the truth while I was lying
And found my equilibrium
               between the living and the dying.

Oh, how I wish the world could simply see my view,
If for nothing but admiring
                               The infinite shades of you.
Your blue brings me down,
                               And your orange lifts my spirits.
Your voice shines bright like yellow,
Yet, I’m the only one who hears it.

I know some days you feel colorless,
Like a lackluster grey…
But I swear you’re more colorful, than the finest bouquet.
Sometimes I sit back and admire –
Simply watch your colors sway.
Because I know I could stare forever,
And they’d never melt away.

If I didn’t know better,
I’d keep her picture in my pocket.
I’d put another in a safe…
I’d double-check that I had locked it.
But her colors chose me, as their only admirer.
And mine chose her too,
So I pray that they’ll inspire her.

It’s a beautiful thing we share…
This reciprocal arrangement;
If you gave me a million chances,
There’s not a chance that I would change it.
It’s enigmatic and strange -- infinite and moving,
Your love’s the only truth I’ve ever felt,
That never needed proving.

I don’t need proof it’s the truth.
I can feel it in my soul.
I just wish the world could see the way
Your colors make me whole.

Since the day I saw your spectrum,
My world gained a fourth-dimension.
I saw your colors rise up; I watched their ascension.

I couldn’t help but stare…
To this day, I’m captivated.
Once our colors intertwined,
I knew our forever was fated.

I want you to know you’re my infinity…
I’ll live eternally with you.
Each time your colors grace my eyes,
I swear my soul is born anew.
Every day I grow older… Yet, I’ve never felt younger.
You color my world;
You’re my life’s biggest wonder.
You’re the paint to my canvas…
And the lightning to my thunder.

“You know, son… There’s a reason...
God had a reason to give you broad shoulders --
It’s so you could carry this load… It’s so you could hold up all these boulders.”

“But these boulders aren’t my own, so why did He leave me them to hold?”
I can hardly hold them now… surely I’ll collapse when I grow old.”

“You can’t think in terms of time, it is not a restriction by which He is bound…
Instead you must think it as your cross, think of the thorns upon his crown.
He will not notice the time; that’s a human concept we’ve created…
Instead he’ll judge you by the size of the burdens with which you’re weighted.”

“Well, that’s a relief, but how can you be so sure?
He’s never turned the night to day; I’ve never seen a disease he’s cured.
Excuse me if I’m wrong, but I struggle to have faith
When the world that he created has become this wretched place.”

“I can’t convince you that he’s real, I can’t show you how to feel.
But if I showed you cold and silence, would you say that they were real?
Yet these aren’t real things, simply the absence of others…
So you must look to the voids, when you wish to discover.”

“I hope that you’re right. I hope he’s up there listening…
I hope there’s golden gates I can admire, I hope that they’re still glistening.
I hope God can take my hand, and tell me ‘Son, you’ve done well.’
I hope to God there’s a heaven – ‘cause I’ve been living in hell.”

Well, they say that the key to life,
Is to simply maintain motion.
              So when you can't breathe the air,
              It's best to emulate the ocean.

I've found that I'm much better-off moving,
So I'll let these currents do the choosing.
             Because I can't decide myself,
              If my self-worth is worth proving.

I've got wounds that need soothing.
                         I'm so tired of losing.
I've lived too much, in too few years,
                        For such a lack of improving.

                                  -    -    -

I need a device to twist this plot -
Some sort of deus ex machina.
I need a key to this lock,
            But, there's something blocking the
            Path to my salvation.
            I still long to feel elation.
But I'm being strangled by the laws
Of this "freedom-filled" nation.

                       I fell under the illusion
                       Of a perfect constitution.
                       But, this justice isn't clean.
                       It's hardly more than sheer pollution.

I scream to drown the noise,
            And fight to hold my poise
Against this sonic wave
            That dismantles and destroys.

This place that I called home…
            It’s all that’s left of what I own.
I fear I’m destined to the desert,
           Or somewhere desolate to roam.

Tried to convince my brain this wasn’t real –
           That lies are all I feel.
I’m not sure why I fear this noise;
           There’s nothing left for it to steal.

                        -         -         -

Yet, I plug my ears and scream;
         Tear the stitching from my seams . . .
I find it difficult to sleep,
         And near-impossible to dream.
I scream so hard it makes me sweat,
And my skin begins to gleam

                        This heat turns smiles into tears,
                         Like water into steam

My head begins to ache.
My hands begin to shake.
If I chose the wrong path,
             I made one hell of a mistake.
While my lungs still permit,
             I’ll keep their volume set on high,
Lifting my head to the clouds,
             To scream at the sky.

I have yet to hear an answer,
        And while I’m not much of dancer
I learned some steps from Lady Luck
        In hopes to cure me of this cancer.

                        -         -         -

Now, I don’t believe in luck –
But she still left me with something . . .
While we danced I took notice;
The noise dulled slightly to a humming.

I looked back to Lady Luck
– and I’m sure this wasn’t just a dream –
But she had vanished to the air,

                             Like water into steam.

I said “I don’t believe in luck.”
She still left me something, though.

She said:
                   “You can’t predict the world –
                      I assume this much you know…
                      But if a farmer plants a seed,
                      In that spot, a plant will grow.”

One day, my throat gave out.
For no longer, could I shout.
And I don’t believe in luck,
             So I was simply left with doubt.

I cursed that lady’s words.
I told myself that she was crazy.
       When something caught my eye…
       There - at my feet - grew a daisy.
A daisy… In the desert…
So despite how bad my head hurt,
I thanked God for Lady Luck.
         I thanked God that I had met her.

The noise I heard was her opposite.
               It was the presence of chance.

I've learned the farmer can’t predict the world,
But, as surely as seeds grow into plants . . .
                     My only choices are my actions.
                     So, I think I’ll take today to dance.