A picture is worth a thousand words but a word can paint a thousand pictures,
Depending on where you stand with your current emotional mixture,
Is it really so hard to Imagine everything isn't what we see?,
But only a picture in our minds of what we really want it to be?,
Intentions are energy made manifest by the way we carry on our day,
Reality is simply a karmic dance and we choose what music to play,
There's this indescribable beauty hidden in and all around,
What vibrates in our minds and hearts came from the sky and ground,
How small we are with endless space lurking in waiting within,
We really are deep vast oceans with our bodies as layers of ice so thin,
I wish so bad you could come with me I want to take you to the quiet,
But we can only meet there in harmony once you have decided to try it,
Thoughts are like food we can pick and choose which ones to digest,
The complexity of simplicity is clarity when we finally put our minds to rest.

Cedar armored walls.
Defined by addition.
These 4 walls are only limitations.
Multiplied by distance .
To equal a
Freedom cut down.
Chipped at with a dull ax.
Bring the house down.
Glory and drink in hand.
This carpet captures secrets.
The spills of wine and tears.
Stains on character.
This chair stands strong.
Faultered? Not today.
Antique like your bones.
Fragile pressure of air.
Pressing on your pores.
You light this room.
Presence of fireflies.
Light my will to the door.
Step into the world.
Through this lanterned heart.
Use your butterfly eyelashes.
Flick the snowflake.
Guide your melting steps.
Snow disapates into forever.
Your an angel through purity.
Lungs flushed of ability.
Stutter stepped stupid.
Beauty of freedom.
Nature flexing possession.
Captivated.

Claude Frollo—a man deeply entwined in the lies which he tragically assures himself,
possessing a self-righteous Messiah complex that he uses to assert himself and his followers—to the point of horror and tragedy

Glorious wanderers on Death's celadon globe
Stride- in sombre ceilidh- the arsenic haar,
Mantle of Dis' harrowing of derelicts.
Feral shadows stroking the hollow strath
With crimson paces aloft Acheron's shores,
The Erinyes, in macabre cavalcades
Walk the land, bereft, forever of aubades

On top of Mt. Bonnell this morning,
Before the sun arose
I watched the red lights of warning
Atop the tall metal poles.

As if playing music together
Each gave bursts of light,
Through the foggy weather,
And played a visual song at night.

They all appear to blink
At the same rate as the next,
But as I took a drink
I saw that it was more complex.

Each with different tempos
The poles played along
And with subtle crescendos,
They blink their song.

How can I love you
when I don't know you?
Your laughter is the harmony in every song,
your smile is the watermark on all my photographs,
but I couldn't tell you how your tears make me feel.

Your eyebrows crinkle when you're angry,
Not that I'd know.
You only show me your best, cleanest parts.
Yet I have given you everything.

I cannot tell you that I love you back
when all I've ever known is your smooth surface.