I'll turn into a song
when everything feels wrong
While the roses are still red
Intrinsically, I'll sing along.
While still I'll rise, and glance ahead
Until I entirely realize:
that im alive within these half dreamed dreams.

powerful to mind that somewhere glow sunbeams-
the inevitable engulfing night, remember,
's oh so shorter than it seems.


Wistfully forget
Or
gracefully remember,
I turn into a song-
and its a very solemn playlist.

Romance as a concept is naive at its heart,
Love, though, as a practice, is much more of an art:
Delicate but dynamic
Anyone love might lift
So as long as you've felt it universal to gift.

Love: it's irrational, limits undefined
but most important of all-
Love is totally blind.

Im a poet and a painter
And a meandering musician

And I've hopes that somehow my
Art'll pay for my tuition.
I know it's not about the facts
Or my intuition
I wont believe all that I'm shown
For I know its superstition.
And you know Im not a doctor
Or even a practition
But heres some medicine myself perscribed
To help with this condition.
The dizzyness and neasuea
And the most dishonest vision..
May this writing reach my soul
In its keen perscision
And help me make every right move
Help make the right decision.

When there's so many unfathomable things we are
I choke on that recognition.