the words we weave
leave us
with tears on our sleeve

we write about
without a doubt

the strife of a
tortured life

the pain of having to remain
after the loss of a precious life

cry as we go

searching for just the right word
that that dont stop the flow
pick the right word to describe
the flame of the last sunset

how to show the blind the power
of a three wave surf set
so that they can feel the crushed shells
without ever getting wet

only we can cry
on the mountain top
staring into the brilliance of
a rainbow lit backdrop

from the first spring bud
to the last crispy leaf
crunched under a babies
footstep

its not all our fault
we bring everything
to close to our heart
why
the genocide
the suicide
the killin in our street

it all aches with every
heartbreak

drugs and alcohol and pills galore
dulls the mind til
we feel no more

we spread our feelings
out with the ink
just to say
what others
cant think

this is no game we
play with words
at times i would soon as
lay upon my sword

when i die
read my words
at my graveside

read them
til not one wet eye
can be patted dry

then quietly think
i've seen his inside

into the hole i must go
wishin to play rhyme
one last time

into the dark i leave you with this
last thought
think of me
i am free