drink me
An inconspicuous bottle smiles,
Full of tears and wishes
Hope and elvish light
A touch of shrinking powder
And this half of the mushroom
eat me*
Cries a pretty and sad iced cake
Baked with smiles and fear
Despair and dwarfish bread
A generous dollop of grow juice
And that half of the mushroom

Eat, drink, be merry,
And choose wisely.

My outwards view, though as open
And strange as my heart, is hazy
Decisions, made in the moment are a
Testament to my mind and self; always crazy
Though I can most certainly be studious
I'm far more inclined to be lazy
You bought me roses? Thanks but,
You should know I'd prefer a daisy
I act so nice and neat, cute ain't it?
But my taste in jokes? A touch of ****
And as for my state of being, I'm rarely focused
I'm more often drifting, dreaming, spacey

Who are you Sang?
I know the body your face belongs to,
I saw him a few days ago at my brother's school
But you're a different person,
You're born of my dreams
Long black hair
And tall lanky body
In my dream you were my age
Following me around high school
But your real life doppelganger
Was just goofing off with his friends
Why did you so capture my dreaming mind?
And why did I name you?
I've never named a dreamizen before
And so what's up with 'Sanguine'?

I want to call my heart my own
But you still live there
You may not know but tendrils,
Snaking litte tentacles of you
Still slither and twine
Twist writhe and caress my heart
With their sandpaper skin
And I don't know
How to end their presence
I want them to leave
Or to allow them full access
But they are too content to change
Serpents of your last affections and
Eels of your looks
Why won't they swim back into the ocean
Or slide down a hole?
Leave me and return no more!
Or bring your owner forth,
Coax your master closer
That we may talk

What's with this phrase, 'come at me bro'
What does that really mean?
People use it to provoke, but why?
There's nothing particularly threatening about it,
And it's not even very grammatically correct
One could just as easily say
'Get thee away from me, ye dark angel of hell'
And it would be equally offensive
Or more so, if a bit befuddling.
But why not say 'come at me bro'
As a request for affection?
I know I would much rather say this
And receive, instead of a flurry of blows,
An armful of sweet affection

When you're a child, hotel rooms are magical, a place for pillow castles and blanket superheroes;
When you're a child, an empty paper towel roll is a telescope or sword, Excalibur in disguise;
When you're a child there's a man who runs on the telephone wires as you watch from behind car windows;
When you're a child you're told to act your age and grow up, to behave, sit nicely and mind your manners if you want special privileges.

So you do what you're told, and you grow up.

But when you grow up, hotel rooms become places for weary collapse in the stale cigarette burned blankets of a cheap road trip motel, or intimate rendevous with someone you can't take home.
When you grow up, an empty toilet paper roll is a reminder that you need to get groceries but you're running low on cash and payday is in a week and why don't we have any clean rags in this house?
When you grow up, you forget the telephone wire man because now you're driving and so help me I will turn this car around if you make one more sound back there!
When you grow up, you wish you didn't have to act your age or be grown up, you grumble at your boss and swear at the guy who cut in front of you because who the @#$% does he think he is?!

They don't tell you that when you grow up, you might lose your wonder.

I stood in front of the toaster oven to retrieve my slightly singed toast, and for a moment, I felt the warmth of the sun.

It's been so long since I've seen the sun. I suppose I've grown accustomed to the cruel skies of a bitter climate. Lately, all that can be seen of the world when I look out my bedroom window is the grey sky and the bare bones of a Japanese maple.

The waterlogged earth squelches underfoot, weeping the melted snow up through a sparse carpet of grass. The grass, also, is barely keeping it together.

The skin on my hands has grown dry and rough, and while I could blame this on my clumsiness or demanding pastimes, I know better. Occasionally I work up the motivation to fight this process with some lotion or other. But yet, the heat of my apartment and the chill winds persist.

Will my hands ever again have that soft tenderness? Will we ever again see the sun? Will we ever?

I climb out of my window in
the middle of the night onto the
cool metal roof that warps
beneath my bare feet.
I sit and lean against the wall,
below the window, sweet breezes
that send a pleasant chill all over my body,
brush my clothes and
tickle my arms with my hair,
which, four days ago was chopped short
so that it barely reaches past
the short ends of my shirt sleeves.
I wrap my arms around my knees,
close my eyes, inhale and rest
for a moment in the near perfection of the silence, feeling so overwhelmed with love and happiness for everyone and everything that I feel as if I will implode or explode, word choice doesn't matter in this exquisite moment of bliss embedded in the insanity that is my life.

Here I am
Walking softly through a lake of shale
Slipping down a hill
Tripping the pieces against each other
Tearing my feet up
Reaching scraping and stratching arms and legs
Over the berry bushes
Stretching for a few ****** drops of **** sweet juice
Wetting my lips and staining my fingers
Robins and bluejays flying overhead, a soft grey bird
Shyly quietly watching
Watching the fracas of the bejeweled and gaudy birds
And their screeching cries
Watching and listening with quiet fearful timidity
Much like me

I wake up and it's tour day
Bright shining sunny
The little ones line up and fidget
Go up to the street's side and watch
Some others stream into the museum
Whose insides are covered in papers
And sketched all over with crayons
Depicting a cityscape and palace interiors
The parades are full of balloons and yet empty
Then the parade has a different balloon
It's alive, regenerating, strong
A simple face exuding evil
Suddenly I know; we have to run. Now.
Children are running and crying
My friends and I glance at eachother
Anxious, fearful
I have to dash back and forth
Running, trying to calm the children
Reassuring myself and my friends doing the same
The stenches of fear and pain permeate the air
Somehow I need to get away, to escape
And run
Then two women appear
Cold, sterile, lifeless automotons
Trying to take me away
So I pretend for a bit to follow, buying time
Then I struggle away, and run back
Mad dash
I find two friends and plead help
Wyatt is willing, Max is silent, Rachel isn't there
The women are back and no time remains
After one last plea I jump the wall
Fall, climb, stand, run
Gary appears barely in time, time for what I don't know
He runs along side, pushing, pulling, somehow helping
While saying nothing, too far away to touch
We're running into eternity,
Away from a black swarming wave of putrid evil
I wake up, sweating, gasping
And I'm still running

I am a mouse in a sea of cats
A red fish in a blue school
I know not what to do
So I decide, having read the writing
Etched upon the wall, I decide
I shall be like Despereaux!
Let out a defiant squeakl
Lift my pokey-pen sword
And charge forth!
I shall be Jack the Giant Slayer
Destroy my fears, speak brazenly
As I run off, leaving this
Phrase etched into the wall,
Waiting for the next timid mouse to read;
Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero
(Pluck the day and put no trust in the future)

Vocal pyrotechnics and aural fireworks
Fire and flame from my mind
Begin to drive me berserk
So I join the rest of my dying kind,

Laughing through pain and sorrow
Living now, only for today
Forgetting there was ever tomorrow.
Sticks and stones and bricks and hay

Poor building materials are these
The big bad wolf comes to knock them down
His pelt mangy and ridden with fleas
Humpty dumpty wore a crown

Yet it too rolled down the hill.
Following the example of its predecessors, poor Jack and clumsy Jill.

As we step into tomorrow
Leaving behind our yesterdays
Taking it in with a slight touch of sorrow
And the feeling of come what may
We try to hold our heads high
Trying to keep on keeping on
Following a red thread of hope
Tied to our wrists and tugging at us blindly
But is it the blind leading the blind
That gives us inner sight
Taking us to another level
Pulling us back into the light
They say love is blind
But hope is not love, while it never stings a soul
It only guides us gently
Soothing wounds til we are whole
So as we step into tomorrow
Perhaps it won't be so dark after all
If we walk this walk together
We will never be left alone

some days

some days i wake up
feeling warm and lovely and happy
feeling whole and right in who i am and what i appear to be

some days i go to bed
barely holding my eyes open against the weight of dreams
barely staying in reality a moment longer

some days i want to create
a dream of imagines on paper
and spill the ink of my mind out onto the world,
eagerly showing the creations of my mind and what excites me as far as
what i can imagine and bring out of the ethereal into the only slightly more tangible inner chambers of my mind palace

other days
i want to destroy
to tear, end to end, the world i have created in my mind and every piece of it i have brought into existence
to shred myself to pieces to rid the universe of such and inadequate creature as myself who dares feel more comfortable as a fluid being, more free to explore and weave in and out of the norms set by society

and then i fall, weak and hollow, to my knees,
full of life and brightness that has been pressed to aside by the gaping holes of heaving singularities within my gut and soul
and i feel dark
and wrong
and numb

but then every so often i get a spark of light in the inky dark of me

and it flutters close

circling my form slowly and giving out the slightest bit of light and warmth

sometimes this first Good Thought or Good Feeling will be crushed
snatched from the air in the claws of a demonic and wild gargoyle

but even so, one by one the light spots will gently blanket the gargoyles,
forcing them to lie in wait once more

for who can fight the gentle persistence of a butterfly

To sleep -- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
For once your life's candle is but a nub
Your fate has been decided and you cannot run
And you wonder what happened to bulletproof weeks
In your arms, just building sky-castles of words
And as you open your mouth, the raven first speaks
Telling of cabbages and kings, and gentle demon birds
Playing an asphyxiated song of angel's wings
Leaving me intoxicated and feathered with silver crowns
And as the breath from my lungs makes rings
Of vapor in the air, the mist settling on ancient frowns
The future runs through me now to capture
Absolutely clawed leviathans, found in rapture.

I'm trying to free this masterpiece
that's stuck inside my brain
if it isn't released,
the pressure will make me insane.
So I put my pen to paper
and try to make it flow
but for my inexpertise
there are details I can't show.
The movements of the pen
and traces of the ink
represent what I can do
not what I can think.
So the cartoon scrawl that
lays upon this sheet
simplifies the imagination
that stands upon my feet.

I sing for you my friend
Be safe, be strong, be all you are and more
You are beautiful
You are special
You are loved
I know you are troubled
You’ve got personal trials
Your inner fights
Your own battles
I’ve heard you say, “I’m ugly”
I’ve heard you say, “I’m nothing special”
I’ve heard you ask, “Why do you love me?”
I know I've said the same
But you are beautiful, inside and out
From your skin to your heart
But you are the most special person to me
For I trust you as a best friend
But you deserve love as no one else, and as all do
Since you are you and no other
So listen to this song and know you’ve always got
My shoulder to cry on
My hand to hold
My everything to be
I love you with an intense fiery passion
The flame’s color only dependent
On our relationship
Best friends, you burn yellow as sun and lemon and sand
Old friends, you burn orange as citrus and rust and balloons
Romantic friends, you burn red as blood and apples and flowers
The comedic and entertained, you burn green as grass and words and ether
The sad and most troubled, you burn purple as violets and poison and art
And the ones I love most? You burn blue-white, the hottest flame of all
The blue-white of shells and ice and sky
So to my friends all:
Know this and hear my song
You are beautifully stunningly gorgeous
You are more special than the stars you wish on
You are more loved than I can ever say
To me you are everything
Love and Laughter
Food and Drink
Breathe and Life

Lies are lullabies
Sweet songs that we sing
To ourselves and to others
Trying to convince ourselves
That something isn't our fault
That our world is more utopian than
Reality allows for
We tell ourselves that
It's better to live a lie
Than face the harsh world
Without our emerald glasses
Or maybe everything we believe
In is a lie*
The faerie tales have even been
Changed to suit our own needs
Pretty ballgowns and sparkling glass shoes
Forget the truths of rags, dirt, blood and filth
The romance still remains
But the glamorous side is tougher
More truthful, less plastic
The grime and dirt gives the story life
These Disney-fied, prettied up stories
Are just machine made, molded
Plastic. Commercialised. Dead.
And they spell faerie wrong too

Math is no more a single stagnant
Stationary idea than english is
Why not bother with math and science?
The world revolves around them,
We can not live without them
English was created as was history,
Math and science were merely given names
If the claim is that english alone
Expands horizons, then that is a lie
Science is the obtaining of knowledge and exploration
How can one not expand horizons
And encourage imagination with science?
Ideas and english are not synonomous
Though you may think so
As for history, it need not be writ
Only in english
English is merely one language
And knowledge may be written in pictograms
Or hieroglyphs or symbols
English and ideas are not the same,
Ideas are simply usually recorded
In english.

I am Muerte, no not Morty
I am the big 'M'
Death incarnate
I will come for you, I'm coming to get you
And you will regret crossing my path
What's that? You're looking for the boss man?
Muerte, the big 'M'
Death incarnate?
Who are you kidding?
I'm not him, I'm Morty.

There is a darkness that's unyielding
Standing  just this side of fright
But even shadows in their concealing
Need some form of light
There is a lightness which goes unbroken
Into the dark side full of hate
And despite the ghosts of midnight
It arrives before too late
Dripping from off the ceiling
Sliding down barren walls
Oozing from the basement
Filling up the halls
Falling off the table
Rolling across the floor
Scampering in the attic
Scratching at the door
There's a bitter taste inside the darkness
A slight twisting of the tongue
A secret held up to the shadows
Playing favorites to no one
There's sweet flavor in the lightness
Sugar coated, smooth and warm
Caressing those in sunlight
Who were and are to form
Pouring out into the darkness
Giving life to the reborn

click
A poem by someone in Chicago
click
A poem by a girl in love with her best friend
click
A story by a young man trying to find out himself
click
A poem by someone whose cat is in front of the screen
click
A piece by a rusty old man in need of attention
click
A piece of soul
click
Posted for the world's criticism
click
A shred of heart
click
Bared with anonimity
click
Thoughts from the mind
click*
of a fellow poet

L--- is the thick, adrenaline-wrought catharsis of a summer rainstorm on the highway at night.
It's the ridiculously advantaged team in a game of dodgeball;
and the hail in March as you run from work to close your car's skylight;
and the wave that rakes your hair with the teeth of the sand and surf;
and the pebble on the downhill ***** that your bike trips over and you fly off, eyes wide and gracelessly flailing;
and L--- is the way you lose yourself in the cosmic threads of their eyes;
and the breath you forgot you were holding.

Roses are red, but only sometimes
And I don't care much for them anyways
Violets are never blue
But I like crepe myrtles better
Sugar is sweet, but too sweet for me
I'd much rather have spicy
As for you? You're only sweet all the time
Other times, you're incredible.

Love is a feeling so powerful,
so consuming.
Men have gone to war for it,
gone to great extremes in search of it
and yet sometimes, despite their efforts,
sometimes because of their efforts,
love is lost or flees from the pursuer.
Love is not a material thing,
a treasure like gold silver and jewels are.
Love is an emotion, a connection,
an attraction between people that pulls
them together. Sometimes its a one
way pull, but it pulls and functions
nonetheless.

So I've got two AP classes I'm studying for for next year, as well as trying to study to skip german 2, so I'm going to be pretty nonexistant this coming summer. Thank god finals are over.

I made a 12 egg omelet for dinner
Not just for me, mind you,
But stuffed with milk, garlic, onion and two cheeses
Half as big as our whale sized pan and oh solo cheesy
It was such a delightfully delicious omelet
But of course, I couldn't make a beautiful thing without a dash of pain
Once, twice, thrice, four times I gripped that accursed handle
I burnt my fingers so the places where I grip my own are now slightly leathered
Sighing with exasperation, I lean across for the spatula and
ZING what do you know?
One more stripe of seared flesh on the forearm
Of course it hurt (when does fire not burn?)
But now I can't help but laugh, as the undersides of my fingers feel like a wallet
And my forearm a new splash of paint

Here, hold out your hands
Don't drop what I give you
Please don't be repelled
See? It's not so bad
Mucous and slime won't hurt
Blood and water won't burn
Do you feel it beating?
Can you sense its pulse of life?
It's living because of you
It feeds off of your emotion
But don't worry, it replenishes
What it takes, and more
What you give it will take
And what you take it will give
It will not strike out and
Will not harm you
You are in complete control
If you so deign to **** it
Then do it and swiftly
It will follow you and be yours
Forever and always
So as you receive my gift,
I ask you, please be nice
After all, it is my heart you play with

Once I read a poem
Quite a long time ago
It wasn't especially happy
But it was also no tale of woe
Just a tired reminiscing of tomorrow
A future dreaming of sorts
Where one may freeze a dream
And melt it when you're old
Soaking your weary feet and relaxing
In the thawed memories of youth
In a world where one may
Freeze a dream
Perhaps they could bottle up my hopes
I'd store mine all in mason jars
And old liquor bottles
Then when I feel dark and down
I'd crack one open and drink up

I am an onion.
Peel me.
Cry, too, through the smiles and grief and tight resistance to vulnerability that are held out to you.
Wonder at the resilient fragility of each syn-propanethial-S-oxide drowning layer.
Let me **** forward and grab you, in my death.
Hold our faces close, inhale your breath and roughly slip back.
Gently husk away the dull layers of dermis and cradle the papery lairs that fall faster and faster as I relax
rigor-less, into your arm,
and fall
and fall
and fall
apart.

Progeny of grey sloppy sponge
And hard, dense cranial matter
Sons of electrical pulses and impulses
Daughters of ideas and concepts, half formed
The words and phrases spat out onto pages
The pictures and doodles creeping out
From behind your eyes
The mess behind your all-and-nothing
Viewing optical orbs
Art and trash, poems and junk
These are your brainchildren

So I was flying through the woods one day
And hummingbirds flitting and flashing
Iridescence and opalescence
Shimmery glints of golden green and violet blue
I laughed and darted with these sweet ones
Twisting and chasing in a game of faerie-bird-tag
Then a mosquitoe's whining shrill
zips past my head
zip zip two more speed by
I whip my head around and see a crazed mountain man
Blunderbuss in tow and limp carcasses dangling from his belt
Beard and hair more of a mane of insanity
In this manic frenzy, one cant help but to smile
Then dive in to dodge as if in a Matrix world
The madman fires, shooting away at his brilliant tiny targets,
Shooting if only for the sake of practice

Todd feels a toad
Ugly and warty and full of slime
Potential lacking everywhere
Cannot see his own beauty until forced
Yet then, he becomes the
First to stand
First to call out
First to cry,
"O Captain! My Captain!"
Throwing aside his
Gag and shackles
Stepping up and
Taking, the leap of faith.

Childhood is so bittersweet
A good one will be full of smiles and laughter
A few tears splattered over book pages
But overall rather sunny
A not-so-good one will be sadder, darker
Many tears, with a few smiles strayed about
Overall rather gloomy
This is all relative of course,
Some lives are sadder or sunnier than others
Different ends of the spectrum
All different kinds of people
And lives
And factors
Where one might become wicked
Only because of a cruel treatment
But another may see this evil and become more angelic
A chance for an action may result
In complete and utter bliss
Or despair and depressive desperation
But I digress,
Childhood should be a thing of great joy and beauty
Laughter and play
Not a period of pain

One star two star
Little moon
Something dark and something blue
Something here something there
Something underneath the stairs
Trapped under pounding feet
It wakes to falling dust storms
Life of isolation, darkness, pain
It can only hope to be better reborn
For what it says and what it does
In the deep dark depths below
Are not made for human consumption
If you feel the need to know
You have been warned
All is as it appears
There is no light at the end of the tunnel and no hidden layer of love
With power in its presence
Luster in its lack
Stealing the breath from out of dreams
And never giving back
Your attempts to run are futile and his claws embrace you tightly
In space they cannot hear you scream
But this is not space; this is the space under the stairs where your darkest dream lives

Can you feel the love in this air?
Warm and enveloping with soft arms
Friendly smiling clouds of affection.
And not just any old piece of love
No, these ethereal spirits that drift
They are the five greek loves.
*agapi, storgi, xenophilia, eros, and phileo

My story,
Do I have one?
Of course I do, everyone does.
Some are harsher and crueler
Some are nice and happer
Many are a mix of cruel and happy
And as for me, I have one too
It's sad and happy, a bit of both.
My story.
It starts in the beginning
And ends at the end
It's quirky and troubled
Sunny and long.
But it's also shorter than many
I've lived much in my
Fifteen(almost sixteen) years of life
Not as much as others
But my tapestry is tightly woven
My story
Is a story of
Pain and laughter
Love and indifference
And it is still being written.

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things. - T. S. Eliott*

So maybe by pouring out our emotions and personalities, overflowing and drowning pages in the ink of our words, maybe this is how some escape from themselves and feeling. By expulsing their repugnant selves, using the energy behind self-loathing or -fear to rid themselves of themselves. Perhaps that way we can live with ourselves and all our faults. They say when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back. Thus, deep self-reflection for too long reveals the abyss in us all. This deep, animal emptyness, clawing the sides of its pit, becoming and creating an overwhelming gnawing of absence. This feeling that you lack, this feeling of loss, of some unknown, perhaps this is what we poets write for. We write to find our unkown selves by escaping our known selves.

I think that if you were to look at my heart,
Not my mass of blood-pumping tissues and arteries,
But my real heart, the metaphorical, emotional one,
I believe you'd find a glass bowl
Delicate, thin, transparent and fragile
Carefully pumping not blood, but emotion
And as bowls and vases do, it would have an orifice on top
Into the hole are thrown little pebbles, bit stones, junk, debris
All the metaphorical cast-offs from real injuries
Cruel words and nasty deeds
Enter through the eyes and ears
And along the way from some sort of unwanted material
The larger the crime, the more serious the harm, the larger the stone
Thus it falls into my glass heart
Perhaps chipping an edge or cracking against the sides
And the added weight is a strain on the silicate walls
More and more pile in until it cracks
Let's out a squeal of shattering protest, and out pours
The hurt, the pain, the angst
Unless, some kind and gentle words,
The warmth of an embrace, a kiss, a murmur
Or strokes of encouragement and love come along
Patching up the little nicks and scratches
Pulling out a few of the stones, some new, some old,
And healing the scars that can't be seen

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
Your wing-pages flipping quickly
Then slowly, desperately as cars pass
As if your pathetic fluttering can lift
The only thing you can call a body,
A flat, limp *** of paper
Shuddering and shifting when a
Quickmoving elephant runs by

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
The muscles of your sides
Heaving in, out, in out
Gasp for ink and blood
Shudder with need
As if that inhale, intake
Of gasoline soaked air will
Replenish the lack of life in you

I saw you flutter and die
At the crossroads
I saw you die
And flutter no more

One state, two state
Red state, blue state
This state, that state
Short and fat state
States here and over there
Colorful states everywhere!
But as election time draws near,
Each man closes mind and ear
To voices and opinions raised by opponents
As each team raises the arms and pennants
The choices are not clear
The future is bleary
And while many men fight for their side,
Regardless of what is wrong or right
The nation is torn
Like fabric by thorn.

Steh auf drache
Du kannst stark sein
Du sollst froh sein
Ich werde die Sonne scheinen für dich machen
Ich werde für dich und mich singen
Und werden wir unter den Himmel schlafen.

Stand up dragon.
You can be strong.
You should be happy.
I will make the sun shine for you.
I will sing for you and me.
And we will sleep under the heavens.

Katydid, dear katydid
Your wings unbroken
Whole, but unusable
All scrunched up
Like a terrible essay
Or the tenth draft of
A love letter
Tossed aside
All crumpled up
Because of how you
Backed yourself into a corner
Hidden amongst tendrils
And strands of grass
And weeds pressed into
Place in a synthetic
Prison-turned-hospital
You hide and change
Your skin, stripping it away
To be subtly reborn

I'm sitting here
Reading these words you wrote for me
It wasn't really that long ago
But it seems like ages
And now I'm thinking about you and me
I'm not the same person you wrote to
I don't feel the same either
And what about you?
You said 'I love you'
Even wrote this poem to say it
But now we're a bit estranged
I know I can get on without you
And even though it hurts, I'm fine
So what about you?
What are you feeling now?
What are you thinking?
And I have to wonder
Are you ever curious about me?

I have no fancy words for you
Nor any spectacular things
But I will give my heart to you
And my love flies to you on wings
I love you more than anyone
And I've never loved this way
For you, my love, and what you've done
I don't have enough to say
You've made my head absolutely whirl
With just the thought that you are mine
I'm not the brightest or prettiest girl
But I tell you that when our fingers intertwine
Then I seldom feel loved more
The words you speak, each touch and kiss
Makes my lips curl into smile and heart soar
And when we part for a minute, you're missed
Even in my deepest slumber
I breathe your name
When your antics cause me to wonder
I still feel the same
I have no fancy words for you
Nor any spectacular things
But I will give my heart to you
And my love flies to you on wings
I've never lost love for you
It has only ever grown for you
So I tell you once again,
I love you

Love is a riddle
A Gideon's knot of emotion
Only untangled
By two sets of hands
And a pair of hearts

So lend me your hands
And protect my heart
Help me untangle and unlock
Our love
And as long as you wish
I'll be yours

They say you cannot have
Compassion and innocence
And yes I can see that.
But you have great compassion
And that is the greater virtue
They say that there ain't
No rest for the wicked
But what of the kind hearted?
The sweet and gentle?
They say that ignorance is bliss
And that knowledge is power
But do you know, these tables
Can also be turned?
I know you have a kind gentle heart
A tender soul and a listening ear
I know you have a wearying life
A tortured soul and a sore heart
And I know you have a bright mind
Brilliant thoughts and a clever eye
I know because with these
You've touched me
Touched my life and heart
And mind in an irrevocable way
And shown that you can lighten
The world for those in need