I wonder
How many shooting stars
We let pass

Just because
We refused to look up
The sky's vast

The flower that bloomed during storms.
The flower that bloomed not in lawns.
Everywhere else, than the time at dawn.
But let it bloom again.
This time when the sun rises,
Away from the jungle fires.
Let it bloom again,
At the perfect environment.
Then, maybe,
Just maybe,
It'll grow into something beautiful.

The clock’s hands arrested
At the time our lips came.
The blood rushing in our temples
Overcame the ticking.

The air hurried into silence
As our hearts synced, beating.
The rift coming between us
Traced back and forth, rekindling.

Bother flees our skin
And doubt sinks in quicksand.
For sure, for certain,
As your fingers navigate
Every wrinkle in my hand,

And I catch your shoulder,
Yet to be chiseled, for wars,
From the weight of a gun,
Full of light, you let pass,

Piercing through,
Peering for my soul,
Searching for each crevice
To comfort and assure.

Your other hand,
Driven unto madness
Of an unrelenting encore,
Scouring for the ungrasped
And the worded whispers
To beg earnestly for.

… And time up on his chamber
Painted pictures just to remember
That moment he arrested his hands
To give two lovers an unafflicted chance…

Life is about taking risk,
Does not matter if the risk is big or small,
There is always a risk,
It's about whether we have the bravery or not,
And it's always about taking the risk or losing the chance.

If a picture's worth a thousand words,
What's a life worth?
It's crazy to think that life can be lived
A million different ways when,
at most, we'll only see 36,500 days.
Especially these days, people worry
They don't have time to figure out
How to do, how to say something meaningful.
So think about it like this:
You may only have 36,500 days, 100 years. But it doesn't take days or years
To make a difference.
It only takes a minute.
And EVERY YEAR, you get 525,600 of them. 525,600 chances to change.

The moon reminds me
of my dreams, the joy
of singing, the playing
that started everything

No burden on our shoulders
no mutual resentment
The sacred must
has flowed away from us

gone out into the world
compelling and excessive, childishly
demanding that it is time
to grow up

but I already am
and the burden of my life remains
mine, perhaps lighter
if we carry it together