My words are like pebbles at the bottom of a creek,
they drift along beneath a gentle current and brush against your feet.

Sometimes you feel their jagged edges and wince.
Sometimes you find them smooth and pleasantly small.
Sometimes you pick them up to keep them for a little while.
Most times you just don't notice them at all.

My words are like trees standing in a lush, lost forest.
Naturally, organic beings come and make their nests.

Some people walk right by without a care to their presence.
Some people say they're dark, yet full of life you can't see.
Some people find themselves at their bottom and climb towards the light.
And then those people praise the way you can see the sun gleam.  

My words are like the very tears that come from my own eyes,
rain made from the turn of the weather that's only inside.

They come when I realise how much I love him, how deep it goes.
They come from anxiety I let build and I let leave me afraid.
They come when I try to fight the loneliness I'm plagued with at night.
And they come when he finally holds my hand and I conquer the pain.

My words are cinder blocks that keep me grounded when I feel I may float away.
These words bring color back to my existence when I feel myself begin to fade.

She stands alone.
She feels her universe fall apart at her feet, her second chance destroyed
The cracks in the floor taunt her, expanding and giving way to the stars.
She is falling apart, cracking and shattering under the pressure of space.
She misses him, misses the way he smiled easily and never failed to make her laugh
Without him everything feels hollow and empty,
Some days she can barely remind herself why she ever even tried
But then she remembers his warm eyes
He was beautiful, starry eyed and full of hope in the face of death
Maybe it was good he was gone, she would never have to see him break.
She would never have to see him shatter under the cold fingertips of the universe.
But in all truth perhaps the only reason he didn't crack when she did
Was that he was already in pieces.
Maybe they hung on for each other
Maybe they can let go now.
She looks at the world around her
She sees, for the first time the beauty he saw in everything
She smiles, bittersweet and tragic
She will die here,
He will die somewhere else.
Fine.

In a chaotic
world of
media hungry
oil dumping
maniacs
We all seem to
build a
liquidized
bubble of opinions
that form
around our
bulbous heads
as infants
spewing knowledge
like an uncontrollable
spring

Our ideas
chopped down
Like oak trees
in a sparse
forest
No longer holding
that nostalgic
dream of
fighting dragons

Now only holding
what seems to
be a building
of self crippling
worthless merchandise
and rotting wood

Every moment in time
is delicate
ready to shatter

Every moment in time
is soon lost
and seldom found

I live in a moth-built cocoon
moss in my ears
deluded into thinking
I will soon be the butterfly
I once was

But in this life
it will never be
unless the ocean
loses its argument
against the land

Unless the moon
says no more
to the sun

So in that spirit I hold out my hands
for the next blessing
receive it dutifully
and with a gratitude deeper than music

Here to chime
until my time
like bells in the wind.