Sing to me a story of a thousand hungry knives, and a thousand innocent backs, and a thousand angry lies. Then sing me the destruction of a thousand mangy lives, the broken hearts that bled for nothing through a thousand crying eyes.  The river of tears created was a thousand miles wide, and you could swim to your death in your vainest efforts never reaching the other side. There is no escape from what these knives do, no place to run and hide. So sing to the music you must face, or you will die without your pride. Because when the knives are ravenous they’ll have their taste, but it won't be from the front or the side.

Melodies play in the passing days of grey with remorse in the notes of woe. The Sorrows tune, which flows in the colors of anger and shame! The forgotten names, that hang the heavy head hang to end in rope and rafter and regret. Pallbearers hoist the match stick man, yet strike the flame and consume the land, smoldering blood to ash.

I have a home,
It is my safe place and my refuge
Where truth lives freely
And where trust is currency

It is the table
Where meals are shared
With extra servings of joy
And washed down with laughter

Located in a place called love
Where it never rains
And though it can be cloudy at times
The sun shines through in the end

And music plays there
In the form of conversations
And silly jokes
That makes me smile often

So yes, I have a home,
Not because I bought a building
Of wood and bricks and mortar
But because I married a friend.

Somewhere high up in the trees
Under a canvas of midnight and laughing stars
His music dreams on a moss covered bough

He is my friend and has always been
Known by everyone during the day
And by the setting sun he is forgotten

Huddled safely in that lofty place of his
Feathers ruffled against the subtle breeze
He waits for dawn in the rustling foliage

And when the sky is aflame
With the breath of a new day’s morning
He will sing again in those precious tones

And we, those of us who had forgotten
In that day will remember him
And in his songs
We will remember what it means to be alive.

This is my life, though it is not my story to tell. I am but a simple actor playing his part in a much grander scene. Sadly, I am not that skilled in my trade. I am little more than an extra on a stage that has become overcrowded, and it is how I live my life that will become the script by which history will tell my story. If I play my part well enough my remembrance may be somewhere in the credits; lost among the scrolling lines of the lives of others.

A miracle struggles and takes flight from my chest in each meeting of your gaze, open eyes that look upon open eyes, the passing glimpse that halts time and sets fire to my reality. I adore that I adore and clutching hands to chest fail to contain the flood.  Emotions spilled forth as swelling surf to surging seas of feelings unknown…until this moment spent lost in those eyes. The heart is a storm, beating behind a curtain of flesh and blood… thundering, running as directionless as a derelict ship in uncharted waters on an empty horizon. Beautiful lover, whisper like the roses between parted lips and speak the song of angels grace with a look of innocence. Hand in hand to swim until we drown in this flood. For though I hunger for your kiss, I starve for something else, need something so much more. Light my world with a smile and lift my heart with a touch, a kiss, ablaze in an embrace…amazed. The moth and the fire dancing on the burning wings of elegance…

Maybe today will be the day
The day I save the world
The day I save myself
Maybe today will be different
Maybe I’ll rescue children
From a burning building
Maybe I’ll feed the hungry
Maybe I’ll compose a song
That unites humanity
Today the possibilities
Are endless
So maybe
Just maybe
I’ll do something great
Something unimaginably heroic
Or maybe I’ll just shut up
And eat my breakfast.