a silent still mound
energetically
shrinking

the sun spreads her delicate wings
and gently taps you on the shoulder
as if to say that the
time has passed where the dearly have departed
leaving their notes of sad tidings
and their mortal skins upon the alters
have gone forward with eyes of open wonder
in search of the epic
in search of the great grand symphony
only to find the tale was spun
by a drunken monkey on a player piano
and now that the little ******* sleepin it off
we are left to our own devices
on this strange stretch of miles broken road
released from the sense of fear of the unknown
the separate faces finally get to speak their mind
all the fair and foul gets to crawl out
but if you can see past the prepared meal of crow
you find that its all about how you
spent or squandered the moments in that 'one' persons arms that
means the most
that's the real meaning and sum to all this
a shadow of regrets
or the warm golden glow of a souls true love
only you know that
only you know
if you travelled all this way
out into this cold night of a world for nothing or not
was that moment in her arms
worth it
yes

it was a crisp winters day
the air was sharp and stung like knives
the sun approached me like a brutal man
and flexed his muscle at my weak heart
trying to make me afraid
i tried to insist that he didn't know what he spoke of
but he was as deaf as he was mute
so i left him standing high up in the sky
on his soapbox on the illusions of light
i walked from my boarding house
to the train station
and climbed aboard its warm casket
and falling into the seat i did say to my companion
that i fear this every day existence
she only peered at me from over her tortoise shell glasses
and cursed the sun for his audacity
setting on her dreams without having been realized
she now keeps them in a hatbox
in her mothers closet
a mystical box coved in runes and drawings of unicorns
but the very things that make it magical
makes her afraid that its uncool
i stand aghast at such blind evil in sheep's clothing
and still the cold creeps in through
from neath the door
and i retreat from its touch
like i fall away from the argument
a coward to the songs ending
i go on seeking beginnings
and hide my face from the sun
the sun he crept back to his cold tomb and wept there all night
and try as could to cheer him
he swore from the bottom of his bottle of *****
that he would never again rise
that he would forsake her
and when i asked of whom he spoke
he only whispered that the moon was a lover that could not be easily forsaken
and so i left him there in the vaults of night
with his pools of sorrow gathering into a nor'easter
with his sorrows gathering into a broken ship
for a fool like me to venture forth in
flexed his muscle at my weak heart
and i did go home once again
to hide my face from the sun
i will wait for a spring day