If life is a game,
Then I'm probably losing.
Beaten at every corner,
And I'm finally bruising.

But isn't it great,
To just play it with your friends?
'Cause remember if you end your game,
Then your friends game ends.

The cloud on fire
Cried hearts and I
Jumped into puddles.
It looked at me
With bloodshot eyes
So I offered a cig.

I stood upon a mountain top and breathed the

ethereal air and watched the lofty dreams of

men, a shimmering misty veil. And upon the

the cold uncaring winds I heard their rising

prayers. Cries of mourning, admonishment, , joy

and fear, sailing upwards into the heavens

to be swallowed up by the billowing clouds.

Again I listened and 'lo came the voices of

insanity, a multitude of babble, swirling and

flickering like a grey pallor of smoke on

fire driven wings.And here in this place

gathered all the hopes and dreams and

despairs of men.Cold and bitter but with the

radiant sun shining brightly on them.And I

knew surely that upon these immortal granite

peaks, that men struggled upwards, gasping,

grasping for handholds, sweating, swearing,

falling, groping, rising, packed with all their

livelihood upon their backs, reaching ever

for the snow covered summit.

Out in the garden where we planted the seeds
There is a tree as old as me
Branches were sewn by the color of green
Ground had arose and passed it's knees
And I climbed to see
The world in front of me.

When the gusts came around, to ******* down
I held on it tightly as you held on me
I held on it tightly as you held on me

Here I built a house  
Wooden floors, walls and window sills
Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust
Here I built a home out of stone
This is the place where I don't feel alone
This is the place where I feel at home

I built a home
For you, for me... For everyone to see
How happy we'll be.

He smells like the first day of winter,
Like the cold air after fresh snow.
He feels like Christmas and Easter,
Like the suspense before a surprise.
He looks like festive Christmas lights,
Like a beacon of radiant light in the darkness.
He sounds like the first few flurries of snow,
Like the cold breeze, a roaring quiet.
He tastes like the dying days of summer,
Like he's always been in a different time.
He is like the world, and the heavens and beyond,
Like the perfect night, or the immaculate finale.

what was nothing

becomes reality

it happens momentarily

a thought creates an action

which sets the heart alight.

then reason takes flight

on wings of  purported glory

we skim the stratosphere

oblivious to gravity

we soar in graceless ecstasy


until ..... until....