There is peace to be found in the mountains,
Above traveled trails you must go,
Where the tattered cloth swings and the lark rarely sings,
and spring is a blanket of snow.

How far the sun would sink,
should it see itself a star,
in a sky full of many

Yet who of us would think,
of another twice as bright,
Gazing up at noon.

The wind sifts weak the dying leaves
As drawn out sunsets douse the eaves
In light so bright the belly heaves
A gentle sigh of fall.

He was a man of simple taste,
Of bread and oats and tea.
He did his work and made no waste,
A simple man was he.
She was the stars, the moon, the sun.
And in the field they'd play.
He wasn't born such a simple man
Time made him that way.

Ever in my mind as I sleep,
Unaware of the bounties you reap,
And for all of the trouble you make,
You're still always gone when I wake.

A mask is an external covering,
that serves the purpose of erasing your identity.

Unless you are hollow; then it is your face.

Be it autumn summer spring,
wind or rain or birds in sing,
there is just one simple thing,
that puts my mind at ease.

When I feel my smile dying,
Before the numb and bouts of crying
I go out with hopes of spying,
Lamplight on the leaves.