i tried to read Lewis Carroll
with a mind of desperation
now alice speaks of atheism
the white rabbit's on vacation
and the words "maybe later" instead of the illustration
so i hasten like a raven
through the pages of Edgar Poe
cause everytime i look into the night
i see a facette of his glow
poetry gives meaning
to something trivial as a leave falling
the marriage of fact and fiction
romance of the flying and the crawling
throwing shades into the colors
putting eyes into the dark
making lifless matter spark
but who i'am i to say this
confusing your kind word with a bark

Reach out for the stars
and collect a handful of dirt
i get tired of your loving
i keep the silence
you the word