There is nothing I can give to you that is not past or future.
When my both selves fight, they throw insults at each other like an unhappy couple.
    “You are already gone!” the one says,
    “You are never here” says the other.

And I sing then. I never let any note slip away into silence. Songs in which I’m a magician,
right before the grand finale,
the last vanishing act.
I close my eyes and slowly slice away layers of skin,
so I can become less and less,
so I can sail away on the river without an end,
it’s flow imposing my soul with the authoritative demand to move forward.

There is no river.
I am pitifully human so there is no alchemy that transforms loss into beauty.
Ihe things I have built, I built myself. Like this house of memories
with it’s sole window. The moon shines through it every night.
What an unperfect image,
what my heart endures everytime I reach out only to feel
solance turning into a hell-flamed sky.
The darkness is gone like I will be gone
like everything has gone forever.

There is also no house.
Only the pale waves of a grey-winter sea,
        dualism of being and not-being
a perfect symmetry,
a beautiful fragile balance.

I’ve heard that some see the world in poetry,
And that some see the world in prose.
Some stop to cry out “Oh, woe is me!”
Some just think “Welp, that’s just the way life goes.”

Some things just don’t go the way you plan,
Some things just fall apart or they break,
Baked goods aren’t always perfect out of  the pan.
Think your life is bad? Someone else’s may take the cake.

Sometimes life really is awful, it’s okay to complain,
Sometimes the more one runs, the more one tumbles,
We often get bruised and feel all kinds of pain,
But alas, sometimes the ball just fumbles,
And we watch the way the cookie crumbles.

The cookie always crumbles in uneven fragments,
So naturally someone always get a bigger piece,
But I’ve found that life has a way of finding its balance,
And when I am alone at night, it brings me peace.

Missed a step of the stepping stool
smacked the sidewalk with my face
felt like a blithering fool
what happened to my grace

First parched earth of drought
now we’re so soaked with rain
the birdseed’s begun to sprout
dare I holler or complain

I think I need a change of scene
boredom cries for the next valley over
to smell the new scent of green
hear honey bees buzzing clover

They say hearing voices like yours
can be soothing and cozy
but too much harmony bores
and I think a little stink can be rosy

Living life in extremes
isn’t for me and isn’t sound
maybe it’s about stretching the seams
but not to be unbound

I don’t know if balance is my fate
Yes, equilibrium has its uses
but I like a tune that syncopates
and enough spice to excite the juices.