the funny thing about time
is the way it grinds your bones to dust
while they’re still sitting in your flesh

we can all feel it,
we pretend we don’t, but we do

you feel it when you wake up in the morning
having dreamt of your childhood
and the sound of your sister’s laughter is still ringing in your ears

you feel it when you look up from a book
and its not your brother sitting in the chair next to you
but a strange fellow with a deep voice
and a nose that looks remarkably familiar

and strongest of all, you feel it when at the dinner table
your mother asks you what you’ve been up to for the past 18 years

see, the funny thing about time
is the way it grinds your bones to dust
while they’re still sitting in your flesh

just the other night, I pressed my palms together
and I called on a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile,
to ask where he’d been

he told me he’d been spending time with my father
because the man really needed some company
without his oldest son to talk to

oh and while I have you, he said,
your mother called
she told me to tell you
that your bed is made, if you ever want to come home

On a Tuesday afternoon I stumbled upon a park,
There was an old lady staring at tree bark,
She told me she could give me some light to bring me out of the dark.
She started telling me a story and I heard her say,
Don't worry about the boy that got away,
Let him stray, just obey.
He doesn't know what he's doing,
Isn't that obvious enough?
You're the diamond and he's still looking in the rough.
He passed up the best thing that could ever happen to him,
Now his happiness will never meet the brim,
And his light is going dim.
Young lady, you must listen close,
Your man is not the man that brags and boasts.
Your man is the man who will bring you to all the coasts.
Young lady, you must listen well,
In finding love you will accel,
Don't let your demons drag you to hell,
Because you're an angel with wings.
Then, she rang a bell.

What is the heart, but endless fire
What is young love, ice and desire
Flowers bloom and flowers fade
So does young love, it's how we're made
You know that time, when one sweet smile
Takes your breath, just for a while
Then love falls in love with you
Some just want to find someone to share themselves with
Some they keep you guessing, when, why & what if?
I've learned to dodge it all, stone cold & stiff
But Cupid he rules at the end of the day
Loves can happen in an instant, just one quick glance
Then its gone in that instant, at the first chance
Stronger than passion, more deadly than hate
Love is the one that's here to stay
Stronger than passion more deadly than hate
Cupid he rules at the end of the day
Flowers bloom and flowers fade
So does true love, it's how we're made

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

She walks in beauty, like the night
     Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
     Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
     Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
     Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
     Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
     How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
     So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
     But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
     A heart whose love is innocent!

The reason I don't wear makeup
Is that I don't want there to be
Anything on my face
That distracts you from Me.
And no, I don't look pretty
Buried beneath the layer
Of foundation and gloss.
Because then, I'm barely there.
Only when unadulterated, untouched,
Does my skin look perfect,
Adorned with the best rouge there is-
Which is, my Self.

I think
The reason I felt
All tingly, when you asked,
"Ma'am, have you fastened your seat belt?"
was this Uniform of yours.
Why else would I blatantly stare
At you walking towards the cockpit,
Wondering if you'll look as good
Without it?