What is this movements to the notes and rhythms,
The breath that breathe life it's essense of eternal ether?

Mourn to moan the formulation of birth to ****** propatuate procreation and then to final destination, cycling the very foundation of life, rebirth, and death in sound that carry over from one another.

Music preformed by guitar, violin, base, cello to piano, or any of the string instruments that symbol the living life strand of the life we wheel.

As our longevity is finite, but with infinite choices to play with strings until our lines are cut or break, and no longer play the songs we so love to hear so dear to our ears.

For a beat that tinker to our muse to the music that linger in the faint of our memories, those memories we try to keep close to our soft pillow and tucked away in our minds to comfort us in our less then pleasant boundaries leaving us empty, like a good age wine to lets us dream.

The empty cups shall be the reminder that sound and tone shall sieze to calm with stringless nights, the song has sang the final tune and forever leave it's mark on the heart good night.  

Until that final symphony reaches it final tune, accept the notes as it is a song we live in a moment, for all music good and bad has it's epilogue.

One must choose to play their music, and find their final notes to end their master piece in due time.

Strange how 28 years of life I have lived in Minnesota felt so foreign as I delve around the city, but feeling bitter sweet knowing I will be going back to Kentucky tomorrow.  

I definitely have not missed Minnesota fall with drizzling rain, and the cold air that overwhelm the city, but the city lights are hopping as usual.

How I missed the cultural buildings, and the fashion that truly define Minnesota, but saddening to have missed the art museums or theaters.

As of late it seems family gathering is what binds me to this place, and even though I have lost all senses or care for him, watching him in his weak state makes me vulnerable.  I hate feeling weak, or having no control over my emotional state. While I have kept positive reinforcement with my oldman's prospect, deep down I felt uncomfortable about the surrounding.

In all retrospect however it was good to see relatives and friends, and I wish I could have prolonged my visit for another week to catch up with people I've missed, but my life in Kentucky have been written in stone. Only vacation or family duty would allow me to leave Kentucky, and it seems it is another good bye for now.

Take good care Minnesota, and hope to see you again.

Mary Jane moving her hips
Upon my reach in finger tips,
As I put the green grass on my lips.

Fell by the ditch,
Puffing those skunks,
And ride those green dragons high above.

Baby, boom, dare I dream,
Baby, boom, haze and cream,
Baby, boom, scent of *** steam.

Tasty herbs hunger play,
Those roots ****** all day,
Let me pay and sleep or lay.

For this is why I obey,
To have you on my finger tips,
And taste you on my very lips.

As the blue pupils linger,
While the lips press upon the lips.

Lean forward for an embrace,
And sound turns to beats.

As the moon glistened,
So the silent stars listened,

The ocean waves clashed,
While it rippled back and dashed.

Back to the ocean it sprung
Pulled together it longed.

The wind had light caressed,
Upon the finger tips pressed.

The light house spun,
And all lights were on,
The glistened lights listened,
As the hearts raced,
And the moon embraced.

It was the sun light anew.

As winter bids to summer, spring renews with vigor.

As summer bows to winter, prologue of fall ensues.

As the daily night sky illuminates less, so to our welcoming days sooner to good night.

The leaves are dispersed by the coming wind, and the frost seem to say hello in dawn, it is a day to say farewell to the beloved warmth sooner than later.

Why is it so hard to say goodbye, and see you again next year?

Cross roads within our pathways,
As our minds flock to our own rhythms.

Likes of individual galaxy compounded,
And formulated into a personal chemistry.

Truth of stars perflexed by undiscovered universe,
And each stars collide in the void vexed with uncontrolled momentum.

Yet there are the singlular truth in all chaos,
And the relentless ether split to the vastness of space,
Like calm ocean that allow our solice.

Those days are but a yonder,
As we ponder upon the yearning impulses.

In the stillness of a full cup of water without a pin drop,
And with inner thoughts still hunger,
But still reach the vestige garden alone.

Vintage of souls forgotten in our hearts,
And shattered beats asunder murmur in tranquility.

As perpatual ideals die in the burning stars,
We are in space alone in dreams.

No longer a thought of discord,
nor any dissidents displayed,
But maybe that was an act of love unspoken.

Ambient voices lurk upon the tip of the ears,
As the ruffling of the leaves become faint and dull!

Shaken by those voices clamor your essense to a vilified characters,
And those sound intensified by the roaring thunder they seem to pound like war drums.

As the heavens shed it's tears to calm all senses to a full moon,
One can only indulge in the simple act of nature to light sound of rain drops to sleep.

Do we become the persona others echo,
And does one escape to runaway from energy of darkness?

It is a destined war to meet the oppositioned in battlefield,
And then you ask yourself if you are the truthful conviction of good?

The innocence isn't so much the victor of the scenario,
But the reflective nature to do the right things.

Those loud voices spilled the vile tongue of characters uncleansed,
And the dirt seem to gravitate the bubble you once protected your essense.

You try to rub off the dead skin that sicken your persona,
But seemed fatal attraction and unwelcomed maul of voices protrude.

Tremored hands can't seem to stop,
But the heart had seized it's pulse,
And looked to the self in the mirror no more.

Gasp to get some air in the drowning ocean,
As the weight of the back become stronger,
And reach out the arm to brace upon the nearest shore.

Everything must stay silent,
And then ask am I good enough?

The eternal struggle to find the person on the lake is a journey,
But one can't runaway forever from their own shadow,
Because the shadow will follow you for good.

Once you realize the reflection is your's
It is too silly to have ever feared it.