The sunset paints the hills with gold
As summer fades the velvet green
And reminiscence takes a hold
On all that was, and might have been.

I reread the books of my childhood
The ones about war and hope and bravery
And a gold ring
And fire.
How all that glitters is not gold
And all that is gold does not glitter.
Don't delve too deep, or beware
There may be a price
For all your treasure.
The Midas touch can change
So many things.
Roses were not meant to be gold
And a golden heart
Can't really beat at all.

Of past loves and temptations
the horoscope did warn.
But how dispel those faces
Who from my heart's book i have torn?

I find the first two now are faded,
all those recollections jaded
down to barest bones of memory
they are worn

The others yet torment me
in these visions that beset me
If some days i don't know my own face
I'll surely see theirs 'fore the morn

In the end this one's a coward
though spirit on him I showered,
another faithless, the third brimful of scorn.
The last saw me disempowered
before independence flowered,
Yet their absence oft finds me still forlorn

I wish i would dissolve                                                                              & reform into something beautiful

walking out in the after glow
thrown about in the drunk beyond,
looking for my wandering dog
laid out upon the ground.

battle scars black and blue
scratched up knees -all for you,
that fence post did me in.

shrouded in a dark disguise
my eyes did lie,
and down my pride goes.

please come home soon.

you know its spring when,
a chalky finger points the way
on the face of broken pavement too,
a tulip gardens bed and,
a splash of color grows.

where a dragon sleeps just above,
a staircase of magic
and breaths.

while April airs the winter out,
a cacoon clear and empty.

all windows open wide
the sky looks down below,
gravity pulls a smile as
I whisper, "beautiful."

The best place for a heart is in open hands

Destroy and enjoy the meanings that are unknown.

I heard a waterfall crashing down suddenly
It was wrapped around a restless picnic of sorrow
Tears were shed for the boy that went missing ahead of the morning dew
The mourning shade often covers the vast array of lies in a lover’s last verse
And it loves to embrace the ends of the message unspoken.
Although salvation bleeds upon the reasons;
The smells moving cannot flow wild enough into the sinking reasons that are unknown
And the insane fragile moments release a certain fury,
That the tides cannot unleash in such a hurry!
The heavy load of mistakes in your overflowing mind
Must carry like the mist that flows through a vacant lot of bad luck.

God bless this atmosphere that I am trapped under
Like a rock stuck in a plain circle.
I chose to forget the waters that once made me so happy.
I got so far away from the numbing sounds that tried their best to **** the sadness,
Just so I could see if I could actually do it on my own. . . and you know how I listen so well.
You took the words right out of my mouth.

In this tight turning hour of chance
Strangers hold these sayings
That are stuck like four minutes for four minutes after eleven seven PM
And this gives me a stumbling southern draw that could collapse suddenly
In the sleeping yet impending doom that is waiting patiently outside of your mind.
I’m watching the shell to see if it fits or breaks when moved near the bear in the room
That would refuse the birds so violently yet greet and guide the ***** burnt sweat-stain
From the other side of the tracks edge inside for a cup of your finest tea.

Their ability to fail doesn’t worry me, so I climb to the top of the fights in the tree limbs.
All the while buzzing and shaking the bay that abused me
and stripped me naked in those tattered streets.

Hit rewind and get back to the obvious yet sudden shock
When women appeared softly
Then ripped the lovely big sunset out of your wanting hands.