We are of one song,
but the verses ever change,
and no two of us are the same.
One chorus, in billions of keys,
and it doesn't always rhyme.

In a perfect verse,
we're born and we grow,
find love and a happily ever after,
then when we're old and gray
silently slip away in our sleep.

But the song is more often
melancholy than melodic,
less rhythm, more blues,
and we struggle to keep time,
and it doesn't always rhyme.

But SING!
Sing for all you're worth,
sing out of tune,
sing the wrong words,
sing at the top of your lungs
because it's YOUR verse,
YOUR voice,
YOUR efforts that make
the song worth singing
for those around you.
Find harmony in our
lack of melody,
find comfort in
our cacophonous refrain,
find yourself
in the words of the song,
and remember,
it doesn't always rhyme,
but you're never singing alone.

I fell in love with candlelight-
in my darkness, she shone so bright.
She danced the breeze, lit up the night,
her glow consumed my very sight.

But wax and wick both burn away,
and candlelight just cannot stay.
As sure as night turns into day,
that fickle flame will go astray.

But for a moment, through the storm,
she lit my world, she kept me warm,
then flickered out, as is the norm
for candlelight, its fleeting form.

I fell in love with candlelight,
for but a moment, all was right.
Her glow, her dance, consumed my sight,
and faded out at end of night.

Today another human
was buried in the dirt,
and other humans gathered round,
and cried because it hurt.
And nothing in the time that he
had spent upon this earth,
could, in those tear-filled mourners' eyes,
diminish that man's worth.

No label he had ever worn
could sway their human hearts.
With no conditions, they loved him,
the sum of all his parts.
Now under six cold feet of ground,
he lies before his time.
And other humans wonder if
the sentence fit the crime.

Another human was his mom,
another was his dad.
Some others still had been his friends
since he was just a lad.
They had laughed and cried with him,
been true through thick and thin.
Now they've thrown handfuls on the box
they buried the man in.

Now the streets are burning-
other humans, filled with rage,
lash out at OTHER humans,
with the city as their stage.
Man and woman, boy and girl,
bear witness what you're seeing-
the aftermath of the wrongful death
of another human being.

What's at the end of the rainbow?
I tell you my brother, I know.
I saw one across the meadow,
and I knew that I had to go.

I went with a heart of wonder,
bright as the arc I was under,
I marveled at fading thunder,
clouds as they drifted asunder.

My spirit was lighter than air,
my mind had but only one care,
to follow that colorful glare,
to what's at the end of it, there.

The closer I got, I would sing,
my steps would pick up a fresh spring,
when I get there, my heart takes wing,
as I find there...


Not a ****** thing.

It matters not that years may pass
and take with them parts of us,
or age may sneak across our faces
and throw us under the bus.
Still seemingly a sculpture
or an ageless nursery rhyme,
you hang there, art for soul displayed
beyond the touch of time.

I witnessed as you robbed me
of attention elsewhere spent.
You blossomed like a cherry tree,
and I lied to mask intent
A craving for a fresh Spring love,
that very tree to climb,
and to swing there, from your branches
beyond the touch of time.

I wanted you like Summertime,
I reveled in your heat.
The long, hot days turned into nights
Where I sought to compete
to bask there in your sunlight...
I'd spend my final dime
To ride the sky with you, like stars,
beyond the touch of time.

I fell for you like fiery leaves,
carried forth on Autumn wind,
and dried up on the forest floor
A season, there to spend,
Nestled in your deep laid roots,
it should have been a crime
To fade away as you stood there
beyond the touch of time.

I loved you like a blizzard,
but you came across as salt
Melting me to clear the way
through my wintry assault.
Yet danced around me like a flake,
held aloft by the sublime,
and hung there in the frozen air
beyond the touch of time.

Full circle, and full cycle,
the revolution's done.
In the aftermath, the epilogue,
it's hard to say who won.
I still see you, through the seasons
and you live on like a rhyme,
written upon  infinity,
beyond the touch of time.

On the clearest of nights,
when the moon is new,
I like to lie on my back
in the grass and dirt.
I'll close my eyes, and
lie there, silent,
feeling the wind roll over me
timing my breathing with
the dance between breeze and grass,
keeping meter with the song they play.
Then, I feel the earth against my back.
I stretch my arms
as   wide   as     I    can...
and, palms down,
I hold the world on my back.
I try to feel the weight of it
on my shoulders.
I think of the size of this
hot ball of rock and water.
I feel the heaviness of
all of its inhabitants.
I feel their slightest vibrations-
baby steps
that move mountains-
shaping the landscape
and changing the destiny of this
ball of dirt.
I feel it living.
At the same time, I feel it dying.
It's an endless cycle
Of beautiful, precious life
in terminal doses.
I think of all this,
behind my back,
on my shoulders,
until I feel that the weight of it all
will surely crush me.
In that moment, I open my eyes
And look up at the clear,
moonless sky, and see
a sea of stars,
burning brighter than normal
as they pierce the darkness,
the illusion of the world on my shoulders.
As I stare into the cosmos,
the reality of this little ball of rock
is lifted from my back.
What was, moments ago,
the heaviest object in the universe,
was now tiny, when set against infinity.
I finally stand, and smile,
having successfully
thrown the planet back into space.