An unknown artist's
unfinished masterpiece.
Hangs on an easel,
in a cold private room.

Waiting on the next
brush stroke.
Resting on the time
passing by.

The unknown artist's
muse has gone missing,
waiting on her call.
In his cold private room.

Waiting on her next
words spoken.
The phone still quiet
in his lonely hand.

I know,
what you'll never show.
Though I wont let you go,
I'm sure you'll slip away,
just like each yesterday.
left with just those
images in my mind.
Still dreaming of a dream
I'll never find.

Each time I see you,
I know for sure what I'm hoping for.
But I just get:
More salt water dropplets on my plams.
More broken heart cliches.
More of those missing days.

I know,
Why we're apart now.
Just a part of life's art,
Chiaroscuro of the human heart,
a forever between each stop and start.
But still it beats;regardless.
I'd rather a broken heart
than to be heartless.

Each time I see you,
I know for sure what I'm hoping for.
But I just get:
More salt water droplets on my palms.
More broken heart cliches.
More of those missing days.

Whatever comes,
whatever goes.
Whatever sinks,
whatever floats.
It all still grows.

even in the midst
of change's
ebbs and flows.

It bears repeating,
friends are fleeting.
they come and fly by,
with the out a glance.
Or a care in their eye.

Goodbye, to you.
Even as each tear falls,
when the past calls.
Goodby my former friend
goodbye.

Talk is cheap.
To you; I'm cheaper.
It hurts, you know,
evey time you go.
And it hurts the most
when you go for good.

If words had wings
and birds had words.
What would we
hear from the words the
birds would sing?
Words of the hardship
of the wing.
Or songs of love that
lovers sing?

Living as an imprint
in the sand.
Temporarily there.
Whisked up,
erased by the air.
Just as if;
you were never there.

You cannot deny;
this, then or why.
that little contridiction.
Incocistancy,
so constantly.
No need to know me.

let me wallow a while,
deep in my own dirt denial.
As a preposterous,
Hypicritapotamaus.

I won't lie;
exasperated sigh.
It's my own personal truth.
patiently,
so blatantly;
light won't show me.

let me wallow a while,
deep in my own dirt denial.
As a preposterous,
Hypicritapotamaus.