Do I make sense?
I’m speaking but
Can you hear me?

It seems like I’m speaking silence
I suppose I am since, wait--
Do I make sense?

My words are easily misinterpreted
Even now, you’re listening but
Can you hear me?

Tangled tangents taken
From the context of my mind
Do I make sense?

I don’t. Of course the sound waves are reaching you
Still, I have to ask again to be sure
Can you hear me?

L’appel du vide is all I hear
I want to know you’re not the same
Do I make sense?
Can you hear me?

"Faith is an oasis in the heart
which can never be reached by
the caravans of thinking."

God's always with you
He's always there
God's always listening
He always cares

God loves you even when
you haven't got a prayer
Just talk to Him, yes (so tell him all)
talk to Him, for  (about it now, for)
He's always there. (He always cares)

Writing poetry is like peeling off sunburned skin:
you tease off the biggest patch you can find
yeah, there! where the itch drove you out of your mind
then next where the skin gets thinner, and clings
what comes off starts shredding, and won't say a thing.
You peel what you can and scrub off the rest
(the thinner the skinner the obscurer it gets)
your poem is what's still burned into your chest

We chose spend this lifetime
chasing dreams for two.
If they escape us when we wake
I still got to sleep with you.

we may be, but
I feel our hearts
drumming
in rhythm
wherever I go