I sit here in the dark
Staring at the stars,
Halfway between lost and found.

Don't turn on the light,
It burns my heart.
I'd try to save it,
But there's no point in
Protecting something that's
already dead.

I'm not waiting.
My heart ain't breaking.

I'm halfway home
Half a world away from you.
Maybe that's as it should be.

But I always wondered
You, or home, which is
Lost and which is found?

I think I know now.

There are cracks
in everything.
They might not
be obvious,
But they're there.

Rocks and caves
have cracks,
And those cracks
admit light.

In the exact
same way,
People have cracks.

You won't always
see them,
But they're still
there, anyway.

Beautiful people have
their cracks,
because the cracks
let light
Into their souls.

The light shines
out again,
Broken souls illuminating
the world.

A storm is rising up
in the south,
and it is softly singing,
singing,
singing my name.

I can hear its voice
in the wind
that whips through my hair
as I'm standing on
this mountaintop.

I can feel it in
the raindrops that
hit my bare shoulders,
not hard enough
to sting,
gentle enough to caress.

The wind and the rain
and the storm are
singing my name.
The grass is bowing
before me, honoring
those who stand upon
the mountaintops
in full wrath of the storm.

And so, before the wrath
of the storm in the south,
I stand, the master
of my own soul first,
then the master of
everything around me.

If I am the master of myself,
then how can the wind and
the trees and the storm not
know my name?

"Here's a challenge for you,"
He told me one afternoon.
We were finished studying
And boredom wasn't an option.

"Fire away," I answered,
Mind and pen already craving the task.

"Describe the colors black
And grey without saying the words."

I had an answer ready.
"A perfect villain."

He smirked. "You're a poet.
I know you can better."

I had another answer.
"Let me tell you a story.
But, be warned,
It isn't a happy one."

He rocked his chair
Back on two legs and
Folded his ink stained
Hands behind his head, waiting.

"He'd never killed anyone before.
The occasional art forgery, sure.
Dabbling in counterfeiting, guilty.
But he had never hurt anyone.
Now, as he looked at the man lying
Lifeless at his feet,
A part of his heart joined
The victim in the grave.
His life was over.

Twenty years later.

He didn't really keep track of time.
What was the point?
After all, we were all destined for the grave.
Might as well not count down the days to it.
He and death were old friends,
Well acquainted from many meetings.
He was Charon,
He ferried the dead.
Neither good nor evil,
He just was.
One day,
He wouldn't be."

My friend gave me one
Of his favored smirks.
"See? I told you
That you cold do better."

I raced a hawk
On the way home.

I had the gearshift
Under my trembling knuckles
And a deserted highway
Waiting for the impact
Of my screaming tires.

The hawk was armed
With the open sky,
Three dimensions in which
He could escape gravity.
Unlike me, he came
With his own wings.

It was actually fair,
Or so I contend.
Both of us masters
Of our respective elements.
Both of us feeling
Absolute freedom, but in
Our totally different versions.

Neither he nor I
Will ever know who
Won and who lost.

The race itself is
The only thing that
Actually mattered to us.

Those times when infinity is
measured by a single heartbeat.

If you're going to be immortal,
what point is there to anything?

If you're going to live forever,
then there is no beauty in experiences.
There is no need to do anything
or to not do anything.

You can do something ridiculously stupid,
can ***** up everything,
but it will never matter.
In the end you won't matter.

You will exist on,
long after the record of anything
you messed up has crumbled to dust.

So, what's the point of living forever?

Why be immortal?

There is such beauty in the fragility of mortality.

There is such beauty in how
those under the boot of mortality can be so fragile,
yet shine so bright.

They glow to light life itself,
and, yes, the do burn out,
but they lived.

You, on the other hand, will endure.

You will exist.

You will never truly live because you'll never die.