Mess in place.

A place for everything.
Everything in its' place.

THE culinary axiom.

The oil on the gears.
(Or in the pan, shall I say)

Mental mise en place?

Lessons for life. . .

The haunting in my head.
My dream.

The one that stops
My breath.

The feeling
That's left.

Hopeless.

Pure.

Unsaturated.

The words it leaves me.

"I tried to talk."

Repeat.

Over and again.

My dream.
Haunting in my head.

Light can be
Stretched.

Across the universe.
Through different worlds.

Stretched through time,
Galaxy and space.

Shortened wavelengths.
With a red hue.

Like a coil,
Pulled on both ends.

Did you know?

Light can be stretched.

And everything is red.

Arms
And hands
Scarred by passion.

Cutting
And burning
Just a way of life.

Doing
So much
For so little.

Passion
The way
A chefs life.

When I finally close one door,

In spite of myself

Another one opens.

I had a dream,
You see.

That the world
Had gone dark.

Five minutes 'till
Eternity.

Black, boiling clouds
The sun
Did hide.

'Till it burst
All apart

Seven shimmering suns.

I had a dream,
You see.

That the world
Had gone dark.

But then
It got bright,

And how the ground
Did quite shake.

I had a dream,
You see.

That the world
Had gone dark.

But brighter it shone
On our cars that won't work.

I had a dream,
You see.

That the world
Had gone dark.

With brighter skies,
And quaking ground
We got no where fast.

In this said dream,
You see,

The aliens
Did run free.

Oh,
Father of mine.

How art thee
Fair?

When the wind blows
Through your little bit of hair.

Do you find solace
There?

Out back.
Amongst the roots
Of that masterful
Tree.

Planted,
Some years ago.

When eyes
We're still clear.

The innocence of life
Was not jaded by loss.

Oh,
Father of mine.

How art thee
Fair?

When the the raindrops hide
Your very few fears.

When there is no room
For tears.

And we have to
Move on.

Oh,
Father of mine.

How art thee
Fair?

When I hold your hand
'Cause he can't be here.