Inside the broken building under the tall trees.
There was a hall.
Perfect and clean.
With lights that shine green.

Curiosity wispered to my soul.
Please keep on walking.
Lets find out whats below.

There was another hall.
Almost exactly the same.
Perfect and clean.
With lights that shined green.

The door way out of inside.
Went right back outside.
The trees I remembered here.
Had already died.

I walked across time.
In a moment in an instant.
Across the universe.
Where I only existed.
I N S I D E

When time and wind and earth
Has stripped away our skin and flesh
And turned our bones to dust and ash
What then will we remember of what we were in life that was beautiful
What do dead eyes dream of when they become ethereal ghosts
Of echo and mist
And the heart has long since flown away to another life
To love and break and scar and love
And watch another cage made of bone
Age and rust and fade away
To time and wind and earth
And slowly forget what in life was beautiful
What then can dead eyes do
but dream
And count the colors of
Time and wind and earth
And see the echo of the mist
Of what makes all things beautiful
And in the vision of this fog
What do dead eyes dream
But the dream of
life and love
And love and life
of all things beautiful

Today warblers race with yellow butterflies
Shiny Pin Oak leaves reflect skyward , puffy -
clouds shaped like a dragon , an Indian Chief ,
a diving dolphin , songbirds in melodious -
conversation , Fall puffs of air bring the smell -
of barbecue and burning leaves , Apple Cider -
memories and nut laden Pecan Trees
Where clothes are still hung out to dry , where old -
movies still make the ladies cry , where men are -
'occupied with their occupation' , where farmers are -
in tune with their beloved nation* ..

I wear a mask
That isn't adorned by any jewels
I wear the simple white mask
That was made from my mother's skin
And it sits uncomfortable and stuck,
Covering the suffering of my father
Covering the suffering of my grandfather
Covering the suffering of my own secret self.
I wear a mask
By no one's choice but life
I wear the simple white mask
That sits stoic and still,
And I tried once to pry it off,
But it was nothing more than skin,
And under was nothing more than muscle
And under was nothing but blood and bone
I wear a mask
That will not hide my blemishes
I wear the simple white mask
That will not define me
And I remind myself of this
As someone asks me what I am
As someone asks me what my father was
As someone asks me what my grandfather was
And my mask stays its stoic grin
And my mask stays my tongue.

There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When all artistic, damaged or insomniatic souls
Feel like they're completely alone
Even though we're all awake and feeling the same thing.
12am is still too loud, still too car engines and shouting,
And 6am is too light, too exposing and awake, aware.
It's blackness but for the starlight puncturing holes in the sky,
That's when the magic arises and enchants us.
The way the moon looks at us and begs us to untrouble our weary hearts,
So we do it, and we do it willingly.
She is the most unfaithful lover, and it is beautiful.
How she cherishes each whispered secret so deeply
That it leaves a crater on her being.
How she takes on our pain unflinchingly,
And only needs 28 days to feel whole again.
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When the most trapped souls can feel such freedom.