I was a mosaic collected
in scratched nails
                  imbedded, bleeding
like I was meant to be touched
but can you really grasp a reflection..

How could you identify what
          I see, within the fallen feathers
of a crows smiles.
                               I'm hidden within,
a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.

I could walk within the footsteps of those
in front of me on calm sands.
                               But I choose to run on
a beach of shattered shells, this is life!
broken dreams never really washing away.

I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks,
                                       ready to ignite.
Within there embers embracing the true
               reflection of how I see others.
Parched realties of never really loving you
or another for the failures of there integrity.

I could love,
             in blindness.
But what is seen is nothingness..
I could love,
             in thought.
But memories will always lie to oneself.
I could have love,
             in myself.
But nothing ever comes from that..

Until I realize that I'm not in control
of this collage of moments.
                    I'm a Paper-Mache,
randomly collecting on a frame work
           of contemplation, that I will only
see on the completion of my life.

I'm but a part that I thought was
                                 irrelevant, immaterial.
But I'm just a piece of life collecting on
the shattered shells slowly reforming to
realize there is more to life than sandy shores.

Every snowflake like a
                   chandelier hanging
from the ceiling of the heavens.
Light glistens from there cold
                                           glimmer.
Collecting on the sorrows of winters
barren collection on bleak visuals.

But when these chandeliers fall,
        enveloping all in a winters glow.
And for a few moments, everything
                              is in symmetry.
A masterpiece of indistinguishable beauty.

We are all wounds of
            Life's misfortunes
That leads to the worst
               cut all of all, death.

The 25th the realm of
                      gods reborn
A repetition forgotten.

      But for those who know
That all gods fade but
New ones are
        reborn in on the 25th.

Incroch on the nest of
              My giving and I will
collect your bones
     and soil upon them.

For where there is grace
    There is also the seathing
Retribution of my thoughts
      And I will bury you unmarked.

You know your in love  
                            with another,
When you laugh at the fact
    that when she farts..
There worse than anything you
                  can muster up in a lifetime

And so the sheep did follow
                     and fall to there knees
not knowing the truth of there
future folly.
For those before clothed the Shepard
and Fed his many needs.

While they were tossed aside
              empty vessels of false followings..
And when the knew were born
                          the shepherd smiled.

Not for the birth of new life,
            but to fed upon there insecurities
   knowing when they could walk,
they would follow his words that were
               just leading them to there inevitable ending....