I'm writing this in the middle of the night,
when there's nothing to do but sleep,
but I'm not ready to forget about the world,
wandering through dreams that aren't mine to keep

and now I lay here,
thinking about passion,
and how we sometimes put it in a droor,
to make way for practicality,
until one day, we think of it no more

dreams have a way of wilting,
when they are left to collect dust.
they slowly ferment in regret,
they suffer from distrust.

so take these words with you,
in those moments of doubt,
when you find yourself in need of a steady hand,
when people tell you to buy a suit,
when they tell you to quit the band

though a small victory it might have been,
you've tasted greatness so far,
even if it was in a dimly lit room,
in some crummy little bar

don't write off your dreams,
don't discount your success

because the magic was there,
even if the crowds were not



I've said it before,
and I'll say it again,
your music is making the world a better place:
  reminding me of the beauty,
  making me forgot about the haste



so do yourself a favor,
do a kindness to the world,

stick it out and see what happens,
when your waking dreams unfurl

as the howling poets gather on the mount,
to court the darkness,
in the company of the moon




I press my cheek to yours
                                              to forget what is distant,
                                                        ­                                  to show me what is real



                 which is only the night,
and possibly the stars





but in a patch of silence,
      the whisper of a tree
           escapes its seedling shell
                   and rises with the sun

you stomp out the door
and go about your way,
huffily thinking, the world has not been kind to you today



though you would resent me if I said it,
                                                             ­ the world has been kinder to you than most
you have people in your life that love you,
a place to keep the butter for your toast

but perspective seems to be one of those things
that people who would think themselves wise
speak of loftily

"stop telling me about the kids in China,
let’s bring the focus back to me"


you’ve got so much
and I do too,

so calm back down,
and think it through

though it seems so big right now,
it’s just a little blip

a stain on your reel of memory,
a scene you’d rather skip

you face a choice now,
a decision that is critical in the end

will you let the poison leave your mind
or keep it as a friend

In streams afar
and violet hue,
sat a love I barely knew

her breath came misty,
her blood ran hot,
thinking of something she already forgot

I sit beside her,
I look,
I try,
yet I languish in thinking that I'll never know why,

but I kiss her softly,
               I take her hand,
                    and two fools we wander,
          about the land

In the quiet of the night,
poetry on the refridgerator can be heard,
along with the chirping of crickets,
which was not there before.
 
How long have I been asleep?
How long have I been dull?
Self-interest and possession quietly tuck the light behind 
the horizon,
 
 
but if you don't notice, you can't pull it back.
It might be too early. 
It might be too late.
 
It seems the best course of action is to join the crickets in their singing
               and become the thrumming world

the blasts outside my window sing,
a new year comes on silent wing,
a fiery song for the world to share,
  I know not now,
  I stop and stare,

for peace can only melt my heart,
the distance a cause--we need not part,

so look,

so linger,

soak it up.

                                 the sea breathes out,
                      and it breathes in

pounding the sand,
and leaving it in a gentle way.


but every day the world anew,
again