I dare you drive your car.

I'll walk between the crosswalk lines and bare the weight of all the lights and corners of the street.

The road is ground, ash and dust and still the dead can beat, there heavy hearts on souls of steel and never see what barrels down, but look to left and right.

So can you see the signs stamped
go? and stop, and find they mop you up.

From the road, they pack you up and weigh the load, with measure of your weight, with violence free.

So I doubt you ever will, allow your blood to spill.

But never will you know the cold.
Fruition at it's pace.


That in each turn see a door
without a mark,
to warn you halt.

Behind the the truth is stark.

It might be, that you have heart
and fear not cowards dread.

If of trial or not of trial, no courage and be dead.

So inturn be ground to black
the burnt and paved and lost.
Those with station ever grave,
and cross your heart intact.

For all is only constant,
Yet all the roads repeat.

With, of this the nothing.
Though we have the shapes.


Squares for stores,
Circles round,
That of destined loss.

Hope suspended,
reprimand, light house roundabouts.

That heavy air unbreathable,
And acts on ground conceivable,
Until the light you bend.


But yet we strive to different shines.
Those of different lamps.
Cramps of youth
Yearning now to smile at us, back .

For it was us in tiny rooms
destined to the sky.


The guile lost, with hope to find your foolishness intact.

If not of them and only you
Trails for them you make.

A road of trials, tribulations , so don't retract one act.

For such is shame.
The needling.
To never chance, the why.

That the hope might
Be there still
For daily do we lie.

That it is to the woods,
And oceans reasonings.


This our dusk with glimmer, gleam.
Our making's of a dream.