Leaves rustle and branches quiver,
As the breeze of uncertainty
Runs through the air like a river;
Shaking and quaking the tall oak tree.
The bark is covered with cracks
And freckled with notches,
Much like the skin of the wise and the old,
Even though the tree is lacking in age,
For only eighteen times
Have the leaves fallen in the cold.
And even though we know the leaves will always fall,
They will certainly return in the spring.
The tree lives its life answering nature’s call,
Being a source of life for every living thing.

You, you’re just a picture
Taking up space on my wall.
Your color and brilliance is fading.
You’re not an original after all.
And I can’t say I’m surprised
Cause all your talk is so cheap
Portraying this image of lies
That benefit you like you’re looking to reap.

Cause that’s all you are to me.
Just a picture on my wall,
And that’s all you’ll ever be to me.
Just a picture. That’s all.

You, you’re just a picture
With no soul, and you can’t understand
That you were made by hands so bitter
And you dragged me out with you to no man’s land.
Well, I’m back and you hang on my wall now,
Cause it’s all you know to do.
And maybe you’ll figure out your life somehow,
And maybe I’m just a picture to you.

Cause that’s all you are to me.
Just a picture on my wall,
And that’s all you’ll ever be to me.
Just a picture. That’s all.

You lived your life in vain,
Hiding all your pain from the world.
You pushed everyone away,
And now you’re on your own.

You are the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.
You are the soft thud of the door
As I slip out, unnoticed.
You are the breath I take, emerging from the frigid ocean,
And the light I illuminate upon my arrival home on the blackest of nights.

You are not, however the electricity,
Or lack thereof when the power surges in the midst of an essay.
You may be pleased to know that you are not that song
Overplayed on the radio that never fails to irk me.
You are also not the piu right before the mezzo forte,
For that is me. I am the piu preceding the mezzo forte.

I am the spare tire on the underside of your car,
And I am also the F sharp to the B natural, a few cents flat.
It may not surprise you that I am the negative sign you forgot to distribute,
And the feeling of snow seeping in through your boots.

You are not the feeling of snow seeping in a pair of boots.
You would like to know that you are the smell of a sharpie,
Uncapped for the first time, and you are the excitement of using it first.
You are even the taste of catching the first snowflake of the winter,
And eating the first s’more of the summer.
You are the chap stick, found in the pocket of the pants in the hamper,
Or perhaps even the twenty dollar bill in the other.

But I am the learner’s permit that went through the wash.
I am also the candle whose wick is drowned in its own wax.
I am not, however the smell of the decaying leaves.
You are the smell of the decaying leaves.
You will now and forever be the smell of the decaying leaves;
The leaves I long for when life is in bloom.

After nearly 10 years
Of failing to acknowledge
Each other’s existence,
We are brought together
In the confines of four walls
That no longer stand;

In a group that has been
Eternally disbanded.
Our passions grew,
And continue to do so,
Like a tsunami, just before it crashes.

Our passions, a double helix
Of melody and harmony
Continued to intertwine
For nearly two years;
730 days, until my simple words
Dismantled the pleading silence,
And our passions unraveled.

The tsunami crashed.
I fell. Our passions became one,
Though paradoxically, it was
Completely impossible.
At that moment, a ship set sail
To a destination unknown,

And the raw power
Of the uncertainty is what
Keeps hope alive.

You ask me what I’m thinking about,
And I would like to give you
A witty and complex and beautiful reply
About how I see you
In the millions of stars in the sky;
How I smell you with every inhale-
Your menthol cigarettes,
And the faint aroma of a wood fire,
Burning and crackling,
Filling my lungs with the thick smoke
That clings to my skin.
Just the same way
That you hold me in your arms;
About how I crave your touch
As intensely as I crave the summer
In the dead of a frigid winter,
Yet I lay there next to you
With a smile on my face,
And a million thoughts racing through my mind,
And all that I can fathom to say is,
“You.”

your eyes shine
bright like the stars
freckling the night sky
illuminating the blackness

your soul radiates
golden like the sun
awakening life everywhere
its rays emanate
caressing the rugged terrain of the earth
bringing the warmth
and the light that you are
to those around you

if your soul is the sun
then mine must be the moon
glowing solely through
the splendor of the
scintillating sun that you are
a beacon of light
guiding a lost soul home

I could be a morning person
If I could wake up with you everyday.
And if I had the choice,
In your arms is where I’d like to stay.

Cause when I hold you close,
Your heart’s in sync with mine.
You’re the one that I want the most.
You steal my breath with the way you shine.

I could be a brilliant artist
If I could stare at your face for hours.
And if my life was a garden,
You’d be my favorite flower.

Cause when I hold you close,
Your heart’s in sync with mine.
You’re the one that I want the most.
You steal my breath with the way you shine.