lights in the sky fighting,
somewhere somebody's trying
to put out the fire

with bare hands and dying
breaths, in ways no one could
ever understand before

there's more to a painting
when you know how it ends

every stroke made in haste
and for no one else

where the world is made and
broken down for someone else

there must be more than life
if we could see into the distance

more than just colours trying
to ****** the mountains

the rivers that run and hide
from the preying atlas

deep into the forests helm
where the naked hide

rains that fill the oceans
before it's time

swallowing the sunsets deep
into its hallowed grave

where gouls fall in love with
wandering mermaids

how beautiful you must be
to reject the gods?

the very essence of what
it takes to beat a heart

is captured now in still water
and cascading waves

perhaps one day we could
swim carefree

into the same approaching
melancholy that has made a home
inside the swirling storms

the very winds that travel back
and forth across this planet

dwelling into nothingness and
so far away from everything else

maybe home isn't what keeps
us from the outside --

it is us playing make belief
on the porch

guarded by salt walls and lashing
tongues

the horrid stain on every artist's
desk

made in spirit of the restless and
the tormented

scattered words and memories
wrestling with dreams and thoughts

he who cannot speak might scream
the loudest

never judge a book by it's cover
even if it's on fire.