If the London air tasted anything like this
I'd pray for wings and spout quick as can be

And fly to another continent so fast
It would make your head spin

If only tea were in the air
As in flavor pallet here it is with me

This mountain knows my every move
From memories pulled like frigid springs
It remembers how my childish feet
Once loved to steer, and weave, and groove
This mountain knows my through of through

And even when old days are spent
And my parents go into their own recluse
My children will find a youthful strength
And stammer with joy about
And why?
Because this mountain loves the way we move

I can feel it still
I can sense it through

If you loved me - then - it's not me
I've already come and gone and went

Would you hide with me, unwind with me?
Would you sew my home for an hour or so?
Would you let me cook for you into the night unknown?

Would you listen to me, would you speak the words?
Would you fall back into the quiet, until, we can hear the obnoxious chirping birds?

Would you want my hand as I want your mind?
Would it matter if I asked you for just a little more time?

And your body, your spine, in its perfect align.
Is but a hopeful wish for distant tomorrow.
One that belongs to the keeper of heart in due time.

But then, in such situations as this, to ask...
Would my courage not fail me?
Would such moments now last?

Give me too much
Until little it takes
And I'll be wasting away
In a field of either unthought or none
No pace to set or mind to bind
There is nothing of theirs
In this most unkind form of lost

Eventually ...
You drink coffee for what it means
For how you see yourself when you drink
And to think
... Eventually

We
     the leaves
     the snow
     the rain flow
We all
     fall

These notes were just abandoned pages, until I took them in and they adopted my thoughts. My name as their own.

It doesn't matter if I haven't. Because I've seen enough to cloud my eyes a thousand times over...

The open road is openly, the place for an open opportunity of mind...

Pictures placed at the heart of mankind, do not last. Not even the servers will satisfy or survive...

Every word I ever wrote about the ever loving trees was never for me...

Turn a new page, open up. Maybe today you will not stop and let the story die inside. But instead draw it out, into the pages where it ought to reside...

Love is such a shallow thing, its nothing like it presents itself to be...

Give me a structure that is not my own and I will not believe in it. Tell me my structure I cannot do and I will invest hours thinking about it. Excited for it...

The only truly haunted walls are those that are plain and bare of thought...

I cannot satisfy myself with flowers
Out of fear of never seeing the trees
Swim in puddles
When I know that I ought to dance in the ocean
Selfishly, I'm not sorry now
Though I may once have been
If you are niether as tall or as deep as these
But I want no wattage less than sunshine
No new life born of less than me
You will learn this quickly, perhaps
That I am a proud and patient sort of being

We aren’t living and dying
   (in this world)
      The living and dying are     of   this world

A fish can say to a frog
   "I am a tree
    And you a leaf"
But that doesn't make it so
In truth or shade
Midst nature and in light
They were designed as neither such to be
On top of which
It's different languages they speak

We forget to breathe and thank God for that freedom of ...
Feelinglessness.

And yet the being (which is).
Is also you, and not.
The breath is yet to be, yet also not be.

What is freedom?

11,541 days a breath
With nothing standing in my way
I can live and walk into the sure, unsure
Cutting paths to wilderness, song to wind
But to attribute THIS to my own success
Is but wishes and hopes
Nothing more or less