Perhaps the moon is a prophet,
and the sun its sister;
Perhaps the grass could be greener,
and the clouds are just blisters.
And the rain is devilish in its daring,
and birds don't sing at all;
Perhaps Summer is really winter,
and Spring is really Fall.

'Round goes the carousel of life,
a kaleidoscopic backwards view;
That captures the imagination,
in seeing days and nights askew.

Perhaps we're all invisible,
just wraiths who've lost our way;
Perhaps blue is red and red is blue,
how can we know this isn't a game ?

Yet heaven dwells within us all,
God promised He would deliver;
a sunny day and rainy skies,
and cold that makes us shiver.

The world is ours, the world is His,
that's all we need to know;
Trust in faith for all humankind,
and the smallest hearts will glow...

Perhaps...

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!

No longer will sadness set the tone,
Despair won't define my waking hours;
Never will the sun hear me bemoan
Lonely tears that cascade like Spring showers

To solitude's woes I'll not be bound
As long as the sun saunters the sky;
Like vile weeds I'll pluck them from the ground,
Laughing as their flowerheads droop and die

Love's silent voice will be disavowed
Since it will not speak the words I crave;
In defeat my head will not be bowed,
To Love I'll not be a faithful slave

I'll mimic the music box dancer,
Twirling 'round and 'round in silent glee,
While secretly begging the answer
To why Love withholds its melody

All throughout the day I'll wear a smile,
Every tortured longing will take wing;
I'll defy Fate's decree all the while,
But when night falls ..... well,  that's another thing!

more alcohol has passed these lips
than waters fill the seas
more tears have rained upon this face
than storms could ever dream

so numb is just a daily goal
that kills my agony
unfortunate, or is it not,
it’s also killing me

i was responsible, my friend
throughout my entire life
but when i lost the one i love
it cut me like a knife

so pour a drink in memory
and pour another  one
for when the bottle’s dry, you see
the drinking isn’t done

the numb lasts but for just one night
it’s all to ease the pain
but when tomorrow comes, my friend
i’ll do it all again

If it should come to be,
This proof of you and me,
This type and sign
Of hours that smiled and shone,
And yet seemed dead and gone
As old-world wine:

Of Them Within the Gate
Ask we no richer fate,
No boon above,
For girl child or for boy,
My gift of life and joy,
Your gift of love.

I travelled among unknown men,
    In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
    What love I bore to thee.

’Tis past, that melancholy dream!
    Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
    To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel
    The joy of my desire;
And she I cherished turned her wheel
    Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
    The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field
    That Lucy’s eyes surveyed.