I just saw a shooting star
Falling down from afar
The falling's entrancing
The vision's enhancing
They drop from nowhere
To nowhere
No mortar
No blast
Just falling
Dropping beauty
For a split second
Of eternity
A grace note
That gets lost
In nothing

The windows are barred, and the fire alarm is broken.
Perhaps these measures of safety, are merely a token.
Sent to stoke  careful ways, and to make  regular patrons.
The note that is in between the staves, is neither here nor there thus are the knaves.
They often play sinners and lure them in with promises, of the outlaws much craved solemnity, thus leading them to their graves.

I always thought that weeds where flowers, planted by the fairy folk.
And the thorns blunt daggers, a secret inner joke.
Left to taunt the ones that can remember dancing round the oak.

The garden's beauty's mocking, the maidens only half fair.
A memory left over from a time when no one would dare...

The garden pool's half empty, you're smile reflects a glare.
The garden's bird feeders are empty and every living creature must beware.

The garden is poisonous , the unicorns now a mare.
A shadow left over from a time cradled with care...

And every day is meaningless, and every thrones a broken chair.
The tower that you searched for your whole life begins to cave as you alight the very first stair.

Plunge once more into the darkness, find again your  sacred lull.
Their you'l find hail on fire, here you are your greatest foe.
Vicious madness comes to find you, echoing from down below.
"Come here darling come and find me?", it rings inside of your skull.
Kiss the darkness to combine you, unconscious and out of woe.

Floating in destitute from joy, with an abhorrence for all the vivacious living.
Making fastidious efforts that lead to naught, as life proves to be trying.
Her broken hands try to create but they cannot today, and the chances of it ever being are bleak.

A World of darkness, where we play games of light,
And shifting shadows fly phantom kites,
Terrifying planes and high heights, are balanced by
antic shamans of light.
Here left is left only sometimes left is right,
beware of the trickster hidden in the right

The cycle of fire is not as well known as the cycle of water
It is by far more demeaning, and it is not afraid of the dark
It will chase your shadow, and be the only reason it can be
The cycle of fire can find you, even when it isn't really there
It is in your dreams, it's in the walls, it's in the creak in the stair
It comes in dreams it comes in visions in your hopes and yearns
Although you can't remember you have the scars to remind you
Of it's burns