Am I happy?
I don't know.
I haven't been for the longest time.
But I think I feel fine.
I feel great!
I don't hate.
The sun is out, and I'm about.
I'm not mentally rushing my day, just so I can go home.
I roam around now because I'm not missing out on something.
The days do feel longer, but I'm enjoying them.
I don't ask myself when I can leave.
I don't greive.
I like seeing my friends, and the joy wont end.
I am happy.
Very, very happy.

im going to live my life and live it up
they are gone but im still here
i wil not wallow
i will not greive
i will celebrate the joys of living
cellebrate the time i have left
for what does wallowing and greiving get you
nothing
so be happy and live you life
be happy and have fun
be happy

Lost in a pool of darkness, A place unknown to me when it comes to you,I struggle to breath I struggle to voice my sadness or my greive, I watch in dispair as we drift apart like two leaves,having grown together on the same branch,now fall from the red autum oak and drift away, propelled by the cold wind of fate. As I look into your eyes I see hatred from where it blooms I cannot explain, we were the best of friends I was your clyde you were my bon bon we swore nothing would come between us,why is this hapning, why do you hate, me but tell me you love me I am confused I cannot bare the tension anymore its tearing me up inside I feel like my heart is being torn apart, I need to know where we went wrong tell me now I need to fix this ,for soon there will be nothing left to fix .

The gods do not greive for thier dead
for they know nothing is permanent
not their robes or shrouds or stars or altars or crosses
they will come and go
as light goes into dark
and dark gives into light
for they know from the first step
they take out of the void
and into names and prayers
when they will exhale and fade back into nothing
leaving only vague myths and flimsy fables
behind with their brittle bones
and they have handed down this story
and printed it on every crease and line
of every leaf of every branch of every tree
and left the equation of time and blood
and life and death
in every shed scale
of snake and fish
on every lost hair
of dog and cat and man
and the mystery
is no mystery at all
not really
the answers are questions
and the questions are answers
and nothing is so small
as not to matter
and no matter
has any weight
except for the matters of love
and love is all that is
and all that every was
and all that will every be
the mother of dreams
the robes of death
the keeper of time
the child of life
are all love
made from love
made of love
being nothing less than
being nothing more than
love
as we are all here today
made of love
made for love
made from love
and this is why
the gods do not grieve
for their dead

When a soul is ready, it sheds its ghost skin, takes off
its clear feathers like a rain.  The doctors examine

and prescribe to my body, but no one says Greive
until the heart's faulty core, hung in curtains, can be rebuilt.

Nothing they give me fills the hole. Still my mind holds
every dream I had for you.  An entire house prepared.

The tiles on the floor are cold.  The hallway
of the maternity wing is fluorescent and cold.  I am afraid

nothing else will happen.  I won't die of this.  
I'll just go on walking in the numb past, missing you

sitting in the chair by the window, knees curled up,
waiting for that one bird I grew inside to release his song.

I kept hush of the trappings of your watered down spirit so their ears would not bear the burning news. The flickers of innocence flashed its teeth as we wrapped our pinkies around eachother for the last time and promised to not let go. Four days after you walked, I laid my soul for eyes to greive upon, for hungry dogs to ravage my remains, slobbering like there wasnt enough on their plate to fill their expanding appetite. I wonder if on the walk back home you saw a daisy and thought of how you let that promise become as spoiled as my remains. I wonder if you plucked it, held it, and said how ravishing it looked, only to leave it with pulled roots.