One cosmos,
a never ending number of planets,
two hundred and four countries,
eight hundred and nine islands,
seven vast oceans,
and I had the pleasure of meeting you*.

She went on by,
I tend to stare,
It's not my fault,
I'm drawn to her.
She walks as if,
she were lifted by air,
never noticing the imperfections around her.
I think to her,
there are no imperfections,
just things,
that need to be seen in a different light.

Her eye's were never quiet,
of her, the only thing I am sure,
is that the rebel in her, will never die,
she's the type of girl, that if you told not to do something,
she'd do it twice,
and take pictures.
I was constructed for her,
and she was molded for me.
I have a weakness for clever minds,
and honestly,
I never had a chance.

Psychedelics are not illegal, due to a "thoughtful" government,
who wishes to keep you safe.
They are illegal due to the fact that they push people away from social norms,
and dissolve the opinion structures that cultures have laid down for us to follow.
Psychedelics are illegal because they open you up to the possibility,
that everything you know,
is wrong.

We need to stop analyzing the past,
stop planning the future,
stop figuring out precisely how we feel,
stop deciding exactly what we want when we want it.
Sometimes, we just need to stop,
and see what happens.
You see, what we learn, and who we become,
in the process of waiting,
is often more important than the thing we were actually waiting for.

Within her,
I lose myself,
without her,
I find myself wanting to be lost again.
I just,
can't help myself.
She's the only one that knows me.
She's my 3am thought.
She can see my real worth,
she shows me things I never knew about myself.
And the thing is,
once you see your own worth,
it's hard to be around people that don't.

The world is dying,
we've used her to the bone,
how than, I wonder,
do we still call this home.
If the world could speak,
I wonder what she'd say,
one thing is for sure,
she would not ask us to stay.
We treat her like a place,
when really she's a palace,
the home in which we were born,
our wonderful, used up atlas.
We cut off her hair,
she beginning to go bald,
the trees she gave to help us breathe,
soon, there will be none at all.
I believe that, that is good,
for than, we will surely parish,
and world will start again,
to rebuild the things we should have cherished.