Cherubs morph into morning -
songbirds
Black angus return to low country -
fields in thunderous herds
In the midst of gray , laden February
clouds the 'Morning Star' bows before -
Ra
Ravens scamper through the treetops
Ra paints the woodlands , the valley , the
'creekdale' and the tin rooftops
Melodic springs doth awaken ...                                                              ­     Submissive curt winter bows before the springtide maiden

Once I had these words afloat
They seemed to gain
A life of their own
They straggled along
A rivers edge
Into a field
And never left
The urge to find
The perfect scene
Of tulips buttercups
Everything
Like crystal flows of sparkling
Water straight out
The mountains tops
Like fluffy clouds
All gay so free
Like all that was
Once a mystery
Like lips they spoke my name
In angel tongue so virginally
Amazed I could
But admire she
That muse that
Doth inspire me.

we're pretending that we're so cool,
with our terrible dancing and music

but we keep doing what we do.

we were ballistic until the sun rose.

jumping around to the same five lyric-less songs
not dancing, jumping.

our society is messed up,
but for that moment,
that night,

we were okay.

we lived with nothing but our hearts upon our sleeves.
our smiles weren't fake that night,

just 68 thirteen year olds having the time of their life with out their parents for 4 days.

there was no drinking or ****,
we were high off of each others energy.
we were feeding off it.

i felt alive.

i saw the world in colour.