I used to think
it helped me write
but,
now I see how wrong I was
It doesn't help at all, in fact
it ruins all I does
I want to stop
I wish I could
sometimes, I even say I should
But,
ask me if I think I could?
and I'll just sigh and knock on wood

am i the bull or am i the man?
am i the action or the plan?
am i the canvas or the paint?
am i the miracle or the saint?

On a chilly day of vacant skies
we came to watch the candle rise
by morning sun it took to flight
so men and the heavens could unite

But, our sons and daughters, strong and brave
were too far gone for us to save
there was no time to shed a tear
or give a cry we'd never hear

Across the land the people wept
for hopes and dreams that won't be kept
with ships and men we reach for stars
with blood and tears we mend the scars

But, there'll be a time when the tears are gone
and at that time we must move on
and allow our dreams to be reignited
for Man and Heaven have united.

who knows what's in a paradox,
or what mystery in unlocks?
if all of space is in a box,
can time and space reach equinox?

if truth is put into the stocks,
and good is beaten down with rocks,
if different birds will fly in flocks,
has the rare become the orthodox?

when sheep run faster than the fox,
and jack will jump back in the box,
if the cart is found before the ox,
can time run faster than the clocks?

as you search the orthodox,
look to find the truth it blocks.
for truth should have no equinox.
you've found what's in a paradox

A woman, old and poor,
               has a cabin by the shore.
Here she lives everyday.
Here she is content to stay.

The village people know her well
                from all the stories she will tell
about a warrior long ago.
A man she claims herself to know.

All the children gather 'round,
                  listening to her every sound.
As she speaks she looks about.
She speaks the truth there is no doubt.

"He was strong and brave" she'll say,
                   "and at the times he went away"
"his youthful wife would always cry."
"She knew not where he went, or why."

"All she knew was when he went
                     to all these places he was sent,
that he come back, just as he left,
and wipe the tears that she had wept."

"As he returned from every war,
                      he would come gently to the door.
He'd hold her close, and told her so,
he wished he'd never have to go."

"But, then one day of later years"
                        she says with eyes abound with tears,
"He left again, to not return,
and of his fate she'd never learn."

"She'd wait and wait to have him back,
                         but, he's one thing she'd always lack."
"And, so she waited everyday,"
and here she waits for him today.

i fell asleep
pen in hand
and awoke to a beautiful poem
for as i slept
i dreamt of you
your eyes,
your hair
your kisses, too
i pictured you so vividly
your softness
was so real
that my pen, in inky ribbons
told the world just how i feel
and as i read what i had written
i knew my words were more than true
and so i settled back to bed
for in my dreams
we still are wed