The words spoken in silence,
are the loudest to the soul.
Tis free to cross the bridge of recovery
yet we've paid the highest toll.
If you want to be free of yourself
then let go of the demons that bind your mind
somewhere deep inside resides
your true self
on the shelf
and in the mirror do you find
the product of this generation and the one prior
present day our souls are for hire
but here in your written ballad we discover
perhaps your mind is undercover
the real you is atop the  smoggy mist
that covers the industrial forest
Welcome to my hiding place
the freer you are the higher you fly
carrying weight keeps you out of the sky
planes are heavy and they carry a load
you and I can stay here
like jets we will leave a trace
to carry us home
a saving grace.

I'm not here to leave a legendary impression,
these poems are merely syntactical confession,
and if you find in your own personal expression,
the mutual feels from the scheme of grand depression,
felicitation, aggression, commiseration, obsession
all of the above, et cetera, the thorough digression,
glory will be given to the one in succession
of the ethereal destination we hold in compression
with the wordly oppression and greedy possession,
without further ado and much indiscretion,
tis time now to reflect upon my next spiritual transgression.

we have a design
therefore lives a designer
and we call him God.