when I was a child, no older than six or seven
every week my father would bring me on an adventure,
each week we would travel not too far away
to the locals woods - hours of fun and games.

Each week while exploring
meandering through weather beaten trees
my father would teach me
to be kind to the leaves.

I was not to displace the way nature
had created such fine art,
nor was I to anger
if rain were to start -

I would not cry if the roots tripped me up
because they were a beautiful design,
and where there is beauty
there is life.

While exploring all the nooks
of the endless forests
I would learn to not disturb
the animals who slept

nor would I carve initials
into the old oak trees,
or take home its offering
as cheap souvenirs.

each week there would come
the time when we must leave
and our ritual would commence
with the hugging of trees.

Hark! The sea-faring wild-fowl loud proclaim
My coming, and the swarming of the bees.
These are my heralds, and behold! my name
Is written in blossoms on the hawthorn-trees.
I tell the mariner when to sail the seas;
I waft o’er all the land from far away
The breath and bloom of the Hesperides,
My birthplace.  I am Maia.  I am May.

Strike a pose and disclose, a secret life
To them unknown
You awake in a robe and missing clothes
- a mark to define all evil kept inside
- a mark to define a man best kept inside
A screaming mother without a single shade of life
Just like her son left dangling on a wire

What's left to say to a petty man?
With a coward plan to strike angry clans
And what can't be said
Is best left screaming to the dead

Cuz we all know anger is just a muse
A silly disguise - a stupid ******* excuse

Cuz in the end, what's left?
Feelings left unsaid
And anger at yourself for keeping them in

So we'll take it out on the fallen troop
Who slit his wrist and downed a bottle of *****

But he couldn't die
No he didn't die
So these tears will dry
And be replaced with irate insanity

It's in those sullen moments,

Attacked with cancerous thoughts. 

Alone to hear these things aloud,

In Hell he'll surely rot.

It's in these quiet moments,

He ponders what could have been. 

He's found his lock; his ball and chain

And yet he seeks again.

It's in those careless moments 

He forgets what he has got. 

Temptation to act upon
Out-weighs desire to not.

It's in these stupid moments 

He loses all he possessed
By drowning those evil voices
With the flask upon his breast.

It's in those final moments 

He staggers with heavy thoughts. 

No more will he hear these things aloud,
'Cause in Hell he'll surely rot.

float baby, float
in whatever you do,
stay in the boat
because i am not armed
i can't save you
so listen to your safety
and you may see tomorrow

float baby, float
in whatever you do,
stay in the boat
the waves will roar
and the lights will fade
follow the compass
and you may see tomorrow

Under a Celtic Moon Night
Warm breeze blowing in the spring
Two great armies cease their fight
In grassy fields, insects sing.

I walked alone with my thoughts
Looked for peace and solitude
Dreaming of love that was not;
So I calmed my warriors mood.

A sound: Enchanted music
Drifted soft, calling my soul
Older than any Gaelic,
Those words took such a heavy toll.

From the wood something appeared
Like a ghost from ages past
Though tried in battle, I feared
My weapons from me I cast.

A girl clad in moon's soft glow
With grace, like Beren's fair bride
Beauty only elves could know
Tears, like pure silver she cried.

Like two stars her eyes did shine
Hair, as black as the night sky,
I could only wish her mine.
Deep sadness was in her sigh.

She stood pleading with heaven
To rejoin her with her love;
A soldier he once had been,
Met his fate, was now above.

This perfect scene did I watch,
When like a dream was she gone.
Left, just stillness with no match
And that night went ever on.

Now oft' when the night is long
And darkest before light,
Still can I hear her sad song
Under a Celtic Moon Night.