For the years still ahead, aching to achieve,
can you proceed enmirthed and jolly
as you gracefully make your leave?
Or will pangs of old uncertainty
heave waves of manic sighs
while depressive undertows
keep your fears always alive?
The mirror may scream obscenity
or whisper doubt into your cheer
with gloomy cover cast to dull
the ways you hold yourself as dear,
but don't let the voice you hear
be an empty echo of the words
that others crafted to appear
as something more believable
than a charlatan on the pier.

I think it was spring.
There was an easy rain
the previous few days
and the heavy sky rolled
in lazy grays and patterned waves.

I gathered my things from
the living room floor.
See, I can't really sleep
when there is someone else in bed.
I stay awake, memorizing every
curve and contour and careful breath,
to seer the sensation of hands resting
on my elbow, or breath on my shoulder,
as immutable fact into my mind.
For, I know how rare the moments
can be to find and hold for the night.
So, I slept on the futon in the living room.

I was there for a week, or so.
We used to spend every day together,
at least sharing dinner or lunch or tea.
But, the wheeling of time rolls
forward forever dragging onward
despite resolute determination
to halt or hesitate, or remain.
That week she was distant, distracted.
Lost in some daydream or fantasy.
I wanted to pretend she was the same
woman I fell in love with that night
in the rain beneath the eaves.

As I prepared to leave, the realization dawned.
I said good bye, we hugged, and she left.
Maybe my farewell lacked resolution,
or maybe it was written in cursive on my face.
She hesitated, then returned
through the side door.
She looked me square and said
"Don't cry. I'll see you again."
I wept that day,
not because I'd never see her again,
but because the woman I had grown to love
had become someone I no longer knew.

Go be lightly in love, friend.
Chase evanescence on the wind.
Grab the nearest human
to feel someone close again.
I won't judge you on your whim.

We've drank from the same waters,
with tongues held out to falling droplets,
our cupped hands beneath waterfalls
storing liquid essence in earthly pools
and with parched lips tasted our reflection.
I have seen you walking on the ridge,
your silhouette an invitation to loosen
all these past-hardened inhibitions
which kept authenticity caged and hidden.
I've found your footsteps at the fork.
It seems you've gone to find the heights
and soar unhindered in the halituous
palaces of the sky, whose voluminous
halls entice with jeweled nets of diffraction.
And I wish you luck, love,
you really are something special.
But I think I'm on the other fork.
I'm off to the desert to find the oasis of the soul.

I'd rather be away, alone
on the cusp of a silent sunrise
captured in the golden dawn
as frothing waves gnash grey
below the horizon's arching bow
than to be stunned and deafened,
clutching ringing ears to muffle
the heartless, hollow echo
of 10,000 vacant farewells.
It's better if you leave silent as a thief
packing every fleeting memory
you can stuff into your sleeve.
Because, when you go and say farewell,
it feels like you're departing into eternity.

A loom sits angled and precise
with my emotions as the thread
while you weave a tortured paradise
from my tangled warp and weft.

I wrote you a poem on the wings of a butterfly,
free-form and flowing like the rivers of your mind.
Every flap rains verses perfectly balanced out in time.
I wrote you a poem on the edge of an eagle's quill
with obsidian as ink after I begged the Muses for their skill,
then packaged it in ancient parchment and vestiges of twill.
I wrote you a poem beyond the confines of today,
where tomorrow hasn't happened, nor will yesterday.
Lain among the cosmos with stars out on display.
So love, if you get lonely, calmly look towards the sky.
It's the rustling of the breeze and sunlight's sparkle in your eye.

Something about you hit me over the head.
It stopped me and demanded that I pay attention.
If you could see yourself from my perspective
would you recognize your pattern,
or would my mind's symbolic formulations
elicit vague, unknown connections?
Have you seen your half-closed eyes
as twin crescent moons caught bathing
at the waterline, innocent yet fully exposed
with your mischievous grin whispering bubbles into foam?
Have you seen your kaleidoscopic iridescence
pouring outwards in a whirl, projected as a flaming wheel
spinning without consideration to the bounds of our perception?

I want to shake you now and make sure you understand.
You're heading to the top, love! It's not the time to play pretend.

I remember that evening
when you were love-drunk,
freely swinging in the park.
Giddy with some fantasy
or maybe you knew
with whom you were involved.
We stayed awake all night,
just two kids with nothing going on.

I remember us sneaking out.
It was much easier for me.
My dad just didn't care.
I could come and go as I pleased.
You had to do the sneaking
through your window
when the lights went out.
There was a trailer
at the bottom of your property,
our little shelter from the world.

I remember eddies of cigar smoke
whirling in the mouth of an open cave.
We sat together at the entrance.
There was an easy tranquility
with a slightly skewed view.
You wished that we could stay forever,
but I was more concerned
with heading out anew.

You saw me change in many ways
and I wonder what that did to you.

"You know, this skirt used to be white."
She said, standing over the garden.
Her hands nervously straightened
the folds and creases and pleats.
The skirt was a little too long,
and trailed tattered in the dirt.
Her back was towards me
as she studied the coming evening.
"Then something red got mixed with the wash.
But I like it this way.
The way each fabric has a different shade of red."
There were maroons and pinks and purples,
layered as can only happen by chance.
I approached from behind, for the embrace,
and her hands rested on my hands
circumscribing her waist.
Not much was said.
Nothing needed to be said.

I went back inside to do the dishes
she sort of ambled close behind.
I don't know how the conversation started.
But there was a distant fogginess in her eye.
"It's just that I'm afraid of starting over.
I had made such great friends
and now we've all gone and scattered once again."
Her voice cracked and she blushed.
She excused herself, and slid into the bathroom.

Ah, but love, I've done the same as you.
When I left my home to chase after school.
Again, when I left school to wander down the road.
Again, when that road led me back to school.
Again, when I left town to chase a worldly life.
Every time I left dear friends, and lovers,
to chase some wild, cursory whim.

I was in my bedroom, cleaning up for the night.
I felt her presence approaching.
"******, I just need you to hold me."
So I took her in my arms, and waited patiently.
Then she cried, and it was fine.
Nothing's wrong with weeping free.
We slept in each others arms that night
which was a strange occurrence for me.
Usually I'm wide awake with the rhythms
of breath and heart cycling beside.
She spoke in her sleep,
words which she didn't understand the next day.
They were simply one iteration of a single phrase:
"Thank you."

That's the closest she came to saying "good-bye."

I'm just a Libra love swinging high on indecision
in the throes of inebriation, permeated with all sorts of
feelings filling falling fascinations in the moment.
Fleeting while failing to carry on and then become it.

Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
The ancient sandcastles
speckling the shore have crumbled,
grain by grain, desiccated from
seasons in the sun.
I've walked impacted corridors
with shells as cobblestones.
I know the tide has receded
lower ever than before.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
'Though the coral architecture
is weathered, bleached and barren.
The thrones sit vacant
hissing sighs like salty grit.
I've left the ghostly kingdoms
for the waterside, to sit.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
First a toe, then ankle's depth.
Then hands and hips and shoulders.
Before my eyes drop below the line
I see the sun's farewell.
Somewhere between the rising and falling,
my perspective lost its bearing
but the sun is softly sitting, shining out to me
as a beacon to the joining of two infinities.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning
in this darkened atmosphere
with filtered, softened rays above.
While there may be monsters somewhere,
they don't seem to bother me.
In this place I move around, almost invisibly.
Sometimes I hear a friendly song,
or see an outline pass nearby.
While I'm alone, it's never lonely
because this ocean is alive.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
I'm not even lost adrift.

Three up-turned cups
pouring  from the heavens.
The maidens bicker endlessly
up-heaved in mediocre tendencies.
They lap at the droplets
evaporating slowly from the floor
towards hexagonal prisms once more.

A haggard crone from the side
while heaving a sigh
split the silence with a deafening roar.
With her eyes open wide
she called to the tide,
the pounding fury amassed at the door.

A new-found sound
erupted from the ground
spurned by the demands of the space.
Patterns of speech crowned
as they echoed around
waking the knight who was resting in place.

He unsheathed his sword
and he grasped at the words
that flung tattered through empty heads and ears.
Their guidance ignored,
stunned tired and bored,
in unrestrained bounds they fled until no one was near.

The knight escaped after
driven by incessant chatter.
He vowed that he'd return with the proper words to say.
Chased until foreverafter
beyond scoffing and laughter:
"Be wary of the number of players cast in your play."

Don't think of me, babe.
Be righteous and free, babe.
Swim madly in love or in doubt.
I won't be around.
Never making a sound.
Not here, neither inside nor out.
If the past haunts you,
with sorrow it daunts you,
gather your soul as a scream or a shout.
In that new twilight,
the gleaming new sky light,
you'll understand what it's all about.

Outside of town
with insect rhythms playing
the moon hides dark
giving the stars the stage.
They dash across the night
leaving fire in their wake.
The dipper rests above
a perfect outline of the trees.
Step up to form seven stars,
the seven precious gems
that never deplete.
Yet in the serenity
a single thought becomes.
If only I could share with you
everything that I have seen.

Waves of liquid summer
cascading through the wall
as your twisted voices simmer
threading tendrils in my skull
and stuttered frames of halted scenes
come skipping as co-pilot of my dreams.

Take your sacred space and shove it through your discontent. Drag it in the tracks you scuffed through the dirt as you played pretend and projected images in the ever-being present. Take your sacred space and use it as a rubric to grade your suffering. Grade the world around you. Judge it, score it, trap it. You think patterns define the space? The more consistent the more real?  Expound your philosophies, esoteric enigmatic illusions. Yeah, you know the words but your voice betrays your soul betrays your essence betrays the foundation you've yet to establish on validity. Cause and effect are undeniable: this arises, that becomes. Nothing exists independently. What are your origins? You are the problem, screaming about solutions but afraid to face the reality of your situation. Paint your picture on the wall with neon colors, apply symmetry and Platonic shapes. Call it sacred, a flower of life. Stand on the street, peddling your essence. I'll be by the  river contemplating a more mundane geometry.

Now that you're here,
are you here to stay?
I'm making my way
through the trees as they sway.
But what's with the sun?
You know it's too bright today.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Now that you're here
are you here to stay?
I'm miles from town
and there's no one around.
I hear sounds
like footsteps on the ground.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Now that you're here
are you here to stay?
My head's in the clouds.
My feet on the ground.
Then I start to rise
and I panic inside.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Now that you're here
are you here to stay?
I'm light on my feet
as I go down the street.
I get to your door,
I've never felt this before.
Please won't you tell me
that it's all okay?

Light to dark must fade,
watch the shadows congregate.
Dark then to light must bend,
watch the morning start to mend.

Walkin' in the valley-o.
Got me a rose in my hand.
Walkin' in the valley-o.
Find me a woman I can stand.

High towards low will fall.
Movement is nothing at all.
Low then to high will climb,
with new vision in its eye.

Walkin' in the valley-o.
Got me a hammer in my hand.
Walkin' in the valley-o.
Make me a livin' I can stand.

It's another scarred heart from the flames of love.
You tried to do right, but you've gone and done wrong.
Why'd you play around where you didn't belong?
Now it's time to pack up and move on.

In the heat of the afternoon,
I sat in silence on the shore
and listened to the lapping
waves come rapping at my door.

You said soon you'd be along,
surely nothing more than a day
but now the afternoon is sinking
and the dragonflies come out to say
"What keeps you distant dreaming?
Son, you should head out on your way."
Into a bowl I place the herbs
I've gathered on the hike:
mugwort, sage, peppermint,
and pine needles with their pollen.
I fill two cups, with some left over.
One for you, should you come along.
The second for the travelers,
with no other place to belong.
The rest I give back to the waters,
offered to the sprites and sylphs.

The valley'd lake is getting dark
and the sun hides behind the peaks.
I'm skipping stones across the waters,
watching ripples flux and cease.
And the moon casts gentle radiance,
a silken envelope of thought.
She guides my mind to contemplate
what is really going on:

I hope that you've been stalled
by a love more bold than me.
I hope it takes your hand and
shows you what I could never see.

If you're sitting home alone,
afraid of what may not ever be.
Imagine someone strumming slow
to your whirling symphony.

I'm in love with my imaginary friend.
Every night we go for walks
through the pines and twisted oak
and roll along the forest floor
sending ancient leaves to float.
Once, we laid on our backs,
head to head towards space
and synthesized soft new lights
which colored up the scene.
We made dragons dance
throughout the clouds,
eating fish in a serpent's kiss.
Pink and green pulsing slow
as raptured waves and overtones.
Behind that checkered skyline,
through a portal in the clouds
came to mind a severed vision
of her flaming hair and crown.
She has curled around my feet,
hearing the stories that I've told.
And I've watched her streak
across the sky, a shooting star,
a cosmic jewel to behold.
She's celestially empowered,
adorned with patient equipoise,
with Jupiter and Venus
meeting conjunct in her voice.

Should we land on the same branch,
turn and caw my way.
I'll acknowledge our comradery
before you leave to chase the day.
I'll be the music of the birds,
a hidden meter lacking rhyme,
as you play the midnight raven
wheeling circles in the sky.
In the quiet of the evening
when all is calming down,
you be the great-horned owl.
I'll be the absence of your sound.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Being a fool is what I do.

I lace my indiscretion
with echoes of "it's fine,"
and blame dissatisfaction
on factors that aren't mine.

I make up crazy fantasy
from the comforts of my head,
and think I know my destiny
while lying in bed.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Loving everything I see you do.

Your grace is pure perfection,
a paradise in time,
and your innocent discretion
is utterly divine.

You're walking on the air.
You're skipping off your feet.
Your words gift easy care
to the strangers that you greet.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Because I don't want to intrude

and turn your fair complexion
to torrents of sunshine
or forge a new connection
with the shackles of time.

I've got no way to hold you.
I don't want to trap you near.
There's no need for you to follow.
I'm only standing here.

I'm a fool for loving you.
Being a fool is what I do.

Violet, blue, and white
spiraling from your brow.
Cascades of liquid light
permeating here and now.

Your name! Your name!
Exalted mantra on my lips.
Your name! Your name!
Elegant lightning to my fingertips.

My heart recklessly accelerates
through sorrow's frozen wall,
and I would like to celebrate --
we've no time to stutter or stall!

I was on the hilltop, glancing;
I fell when you gave your shove.
It's alright, 'cause now I'm dancing.
Dancing in the clear light of love.

Don't fill it to the top.
Don't let it overflow.
Leave some space to stop
and a little room to grow.

She asked me if I knew your name --
I think it every day.
At night it comes to speak to me
and echoes through my dream.

I've seen the sun set seven summers
in the indigo of night.
I've known the moon to whisper secrets
given enough time.

And I've been made to see
that it could just be me
giving too much time to fantasy,
hung up on make-believe.

I created this feeling,
synthesized it from the depths.
Now my ego's been sent reeling
while my soul's eternal slept.

From extreme-isms oscillations,
first conditional love then none,
this pervasive vacillation
makes me feel I've come undone.

Can I balance give and take
with trepidation's breath?
Would it still be as fake
as giving up what's left?

Idealization's paved the road
from a half-remembered morn.
It's *******'s been the mode
and my soul's what's been torn.

I can't decide which choice to choose
to free me from all of this.
I could set the Furies loose,
if only I knew that help exists.

My problems have grown too massive,
so much larger than my strength.
Perhaps my approach's been too passive
and too drawn out in its length.

I'll try to align my focus, will, and intention,
but my authority is lacking.
My creative mind has no invention,
and of myself I give no backing.

Once my decision has been made,
I'll go forward or be drawn.
Progress's steps will never fade
so let's get on with it, or get it on.

I'll surrender to the task at hand,
bearing knowledge and responsibility.
Cast towards me all reprimand
which I'll greet without hostility.

I'll search out far and wide
for a consistent love's stability.
I'll find it wherever it may hide,
and nurture to the best of my ability.

In that first moment
I knew something was different.
Maybe I was high,
but as I passed by
I noticed how her eyes
wrapped 'round the other side,
and her face gently curved
beyond what I observed.
As I wandered through the store,
I forgot what I came in for.
What I had seen
I couldn't believe:
is this what they mean
when they say "beauty?"
I noticed the ring on her finger,
the piercing in her nostril,
the color of her eyes,
her lips,
her smile,
the sound of her voice
as she bid me good day.

The next day I returned.
The automatic door opened,  
she turned
studied my face.
A smile, then back to work.

"I like your shirt. Are you from Philadelphia?" She asked,
referencing the Philadelphia Folk Festival shirt.
"No, thankfully."

Should I have told my experience of Philadelphia?
Of psychosis bordering on dementia,
of raw confusion and terror,
of stupid decisions compounded with error,
of hopes and expectations,
of my inability to maintain relations?

"Seems like a fun event to see."
"Yeah, it was wild."
"Did you travel all the way out there just for it?"
"No, I worked production."
"Oh, how cool! Would you like a receipt."
"No."
"Have a good day."
"You too."

The next morning I needed coffee,
and a few things for lunch,
and a way to strain
the massage oil I was infusing.
Again, as the automatic door
parted she greeted me as before.
A moment of careful study
before eyes a-flash with recognition
and a warm smile I did my best to return.
I grabbed my things and came to the aisle.
There they stood chatting.
I heard snippets of words,
but I'm not one to intrude
"Sorry for the real talk" she said.
"That's the only way to talk." I nodded my head

I didn't say how my past few weeks
contained realer words than I heard them speak,
how I had to navigate the alleys
of bickering and emotional valleys,
of overdoses and institutionalizations,
of kidney failures and hospitalizations.

"So what are you making...?" she trailed on.
"Oh, pasta or something." My response.
"Pasta and...jelly?" She asked pointing to the cloth
so aptly labelled jelly cloth.
"Nah, man, I've got to filter the coconut oil.
I infused some herbs into the oil.
Now I have to get them out."
"That makes sense. I remember you buying the oil.
Isn't coconut oil amazing?"
"It truly is a miracle."
I can't place the look in her eye.
Do I remind her of another guy?

And while I'd like to get to know her
I've learned to be cautious with a stranger.
'Cause you never really know
from where they're coming
or where they'd like to go.
Maybe I'll head back tomorrow,
buying bread or lord only knows,
but I've been strung along,
strung out,
hung up
to dry
too many times
to have the audacity
to try.

Gather 'round children,
I'll sing you a song
about a land
and what's going on.

Gather 'round children,
lend me your ear.
Open your mind
and get ready to hear

that it takes so long.
It takes too long to be free.

There will be times
when you are just fine.
You're having your way
with good living and wine.

There will be times
when things don't go well,
when no one is near ya,
no one who could tell ya

that it takes so long.
It takes too long to be free.

When we finally
get to Nowhere
we'll be laughing and playing
and filling to air.

When we finally
have us our fun,
we'll be blasting on trumpets
and banging on drums,

but it takes so long.
It takes too long to be free.

Lying and basking
'neath sun-setting skies,
with beautiful pastels
reflecting your eyes.

Lying and sleeping
'neath moon and the stars.
Our love and our life
will never depart,

but it takes so long.
Yes, it takes too long to be free.

When you open your mind
remember to take your heart along.
The mind some words can write,
but without heart there'll be no song.

Standing in the lot,
pointer finger in the air,
praying what I've got
will help me get in there.

I'm looking for a miracle
to get to the show.
The band is incredible,
listen to them go.

My friends sold my ticket
for a tab and a ride.
Talk about wicked
and killing my vibe.

Then a man walking by
whisperin' so I could hear:
"You'll see The Dead while alive
if you take this. Here."

Do what you can
or get out the way.
But don't lend your hand
if you can't take the weight.

Honey, you're my darling,
but do you know
what it is I'm starting?

Honey, you're my baby,
but do you know
what it is I'm saying?

Honey, you're a doozy,
but do you know
what it is I'm doing?

Honey, you're not ready,
and you don't know
where it is I'm heading.

I've sailed the seas of sorrow
and scaled the cliffs of fear.
I've lazed around this meadow
in every season of the year.

It has got me wondering:
Where would I like to go?
'Cause my soul, it feels like wandering
where my footsteps do not know.

In life I feel like loving
In love I feel like lying.
In truth I feel like moving,
'cause if I'm moving I'm not dying.

Since before this time's beginning
we've been rolling down a road.
When it feels like ending
something adds another load.

Whether you're whispering discretely
or screaming loud and bold,
an angel's choir will greet ye
before palaces of gold.

In life I feel like loving
In love I feel like lying.
In truth I feel like moving,
'cause if I'm moving I'm not dying.

So raise your voice in proclamation,
raise your voice for all to hear.
Sing your songs in declaration
to the time that must appear.

Don't be fearful of the future,
don't grieve the ancient pasts.
Fix love up with sutures
and pray that stitching lasts.

All these slip-stream silk canopies unfurling out at last keep the interchanging threads tangled in the past. It doesn't matter what I lose in the search to find my Self amid cacophonous raucousness and distractions from consciousness. When the flowers fully bloom, bearing fruit too ripe to wait, and a secondary sight sends me right into the zone, I'll walk the path the ancients tread and follow my voice back home. Sing me a song in medicine tongues, as serpents' illusions hiss from my lungs. Knowing how the angels' trumpets' wail and mourn the loss of prosperity hidden on the shore I'll listen, still reeling from the stars in my head, to the bliss that is waiting for "mine" to lie dead.

Om shanti tra-la-lace,
empty head fulla space.

Mismatched mouth and mind,
squawking every word ya find.

Buncha penny-sized pupils --
spun-out "gypsies" popping pills.

When ya finally say what ya mean,
I'll be where I was with no in between.

Om shanti tra-la-lo
pack yer patchouli and go.

It's a vague sense of hopelessness,
like I'll never have my fun.
I'm not the only one that feels like this --
I can't be the only one.

She asked:
You know what's unfair?

I replied:
The sound of your voice and the smell of your hair.

If they should ask, after some uncertainty,
respond resonating a cadence of tranquility:
"Because I am young and life demands it of me."

I feel it growin' back again.
It's seepin' through my skin.
I thought I cut the root,
but it's bloomin' from the shoot.

She's tryin' to make me feel a fool
right when I finally found my cool.
She won't pull me outta control,
'cause she don't own this soul.

If you've got somethin' to say,
don't bite your tongue and spit on me.
If you've got somethin' to say,
don't choke on what might not even be.

I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
stare into the valley below.
I said I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
'cause I can't see ya anymo'.

When you wake up woman,
don't be surprised with what ya see.
When you wake up woman,
I hope ya take it pleasantly.

I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
stare into the valley below.
I'll said I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
'cause I can't see ya anymo'.

Find your own forgiveness, babe.
Wash yourself beside the sea.
Find your own forgiveness, babe,
'cause ya won't get none from me.

I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
stare into the valley below.
I said I'll climb to the top of a mountain,
'cause I can't see ya anymo'.

If I stay the night
in a city by the shore,
I'll do my best to wait inside,
not search for something more.

If I meet another Rose,
I'll pluck out all her thorns,
and remember there's no love
in the brambles by the road.

But if I meet her in the night
and she's staying in my home,
I'll try not to hold on tight
and let her move on alone.

If I meet another Rose,
I'll pluck out all her thorns,
and remember there's no love
in the brambles by the road.

If I'm drinking wine
and she's fillin' me with laughter,
I'll lie and say I'm fine.
Then not pursue her, after.

If I meet another Rose,
I'll pluck out all her thorns,
and remember there's no love
in the brambles by the road.

How I wonder, woman:
do you regret the love you've scorned?
For all the ways you've been inhuman
do you howl and wail and mourn?

You left me singing empty songs
devoid of any soul, hollowed to core;
I wonder if you count your wrongs
and fear what waits in store.

But should he raise his voice at you,
stare him right into his eye.
Say: "Anger's not a virtue.
Don't sip on poison, hopin' that I die."

And should he raise his fist at you,
don't stay and hope he'll change.
Because men like that aren't all too few.
They're enamored with their rage.

Know that you deserve the best,
not an ounce of fear or discontent.
Believe that you are blessed,
if you would but give it your consent.

Show me a woman
who loves what she's got.
Who's not afraid to go further
but knows when to stop.

Won't you take my saddle off, and rest it on my grave?
Won't you take my saddle off, and rest it on my grave?
'Cause if you take my saddle off, and rest it on my grave,
we can walk down the street goin' our own way.

Don't you leave me lonesome 'round these parts no more.
Don't you leave me lonesome 'round these parts no more.
'Cause if you leave me lonesome 'round these parts once more
I'm lacing up my shoes and I'm runnin' out the door.

I love to see you laughin' in the morning light.
I love to see you laughin' in the morning light.
'Cause when I see you laughin' in the morning light,
I forget all my problems and I think feel alright.

Won't you stop playin' these games with my head.
Won't you stop playin' these games with my head.
'Cause if you stop playin' these games with my head,
I'll sweep you off your feet and I'll carry you to bed.

The real, unreal and surreal amalgamate as a tapestry
billowing in the winds of another half-desired destiny.

What was once an easy operation,
from here to somewhere unrelated but accessible,
becomes an altogether insurmountable obstacle
when faced with the torrents of Fate's indifferent condensation.

Are we not meant to know
the deepest undercurrent flow
of cosmic affairs, but rather stare
onward, unblinking until somewhere
a voice (or something similar) proclaims
revelation with enough conviction
to rouse our stagnant minds to contemplation?

Must now be that time of revelation?

When circumstances dance
with tattered threads of dissonance
I'll ask You once to ease this stress
and synthesize new strength from difference.

When passion lays with bated breath
subdued behind the facade of death
I hope You'll give of Yourself to bless
this interchange where less is less.

When it's Love that's just Love
not pretending to be something more
I'll know You by the easy grace
that's flowing through Your core.

Nothing lasts beyond these moments
sacrificed, in passing, to kindle movements.
I'd give myself to You, forever,
if I thought that we could part.

This one's for the Queen of Limbo
caught in between a "yes" and a "no."
Why are you so ill-defined?
What's mine is yours if you were mine.
Tell me something I don't know;
plant your seeds, then watch them grow.

While you're young, your mind's alive
and as you age you watch it die.
This is what I've got for you,
all the ways to make it through.
Is it Truth that we exist
as not a thing that's more than this?

I can see it in your eyes --
your fate and mine are intertwined.

The higher I go,
the more I miss the ground;
but when I'm low,
I think You've only let me down.

I don't want to leave these arms of heaven.
Hold me here just a little bit more.