Pastel skies and chilly dark nights,
this is life for a wildflower like me.
Sitting by the fire full of hopes and desires,
longing to once again feel free.

Seldom do I feel free with my roots deeply entangled in you.

Maybe, fold those fingers
into the openings of mine
because i am obsessed with
the unnecessary filling of all open spaces

And hopefully sing all the lyrics wrong
in case i mess up like i always do
fumbling synonyms out through
the air that rushes from my bitter tongue to my teeth

Please press those palms against my flaming ears
to boom the sounds inside me
so that my mind can listen
to its own screaming

i will need - to
i will require - to
i will ask - to

Help me out of bed each morning
because with each sleep
i gain another universal weight
in each of my limbs

Always, Always, Always
answer to the suffering
with the full knowledge
of my next reaction

Never question the ache
for the sake of the peace
i bring in the silencing of answers

Forever
i will repeat forever until
you
are caught in the permanency of
Forever


in the end,
I

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not tho' the soldiers knew
  Someone had blundered:
Theirs was not to make reply,
Theirs was not to reason why,
Theirs was but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon in front of them
  Volleyed and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
  Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sab'ring the gunners there,
Charging and army, while
  All the world wondered:
Plunging in the battery smoke,
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
  Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not--
  Not the six hundred.

Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon in front of them
  Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that fought so well,
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
  Left of the six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
  All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
  Noble Six Hundred!