close your eyes.
breathe in eternity.
let the weight of time dissolve.

what is your soul’s curriculum?
what lessons are carved in your bones,
whispered in your dreams,
woven into the moments that brought you here? Saturday.

what an andy wants.
what an andy needs.

Saturn’s touch…
did you call these trials into being?
shape these crossroads before you arrived?
do you feel the pull of destiny,
or the echo of something you’ve already known?

what an andy wants.
what an andy needs.

are you listening?
to the hum beneath silence,
the flicker between waking and sleep,
the voice that speaks when all else is still?

what an andy wants.
what an andy needs.

the answers are not ahead of you.
they are within you.
all you have to do—
is remember.
Return.

As days age and sink beneath the Earth,
my friend he walks with confidence in his work.
And we work together, worlds apart,
a mind of methods and honest hearts.
Stood as frame to scenes of wonder
and together we'd press through rain and thunder,
the will of gods and wrath of planets
and together we form constructive habits.

Witness of a world asunder,
and under the impression that there is more to be done
we have fun, on the run from the eyes and the engines
that pursue the constant contention, driven
by the sad ambitions of those around us,
but our friendship will ground us, from mountain to river.
And a unique brand of faith shall deliver
the voice that is still worth hearing,
as the time of rest is nearing,
I hope we can work together on our many optimistic feelings.

Into the dream you come, unbidden,
A shadow forged from light, a storm concealed.
The delicate strands of my quiet haven,
Unraveled beneath your touch, unhealed.

Across the soft carpet of my reverie,
You tread with hobnail boots, a jarring song.
Each step a symphony of discord,
Yet strangely, I crave you to linger long.

The velvet mists of my tender musings
Once kissed my soul with whispers sweet.
Now, torn asunder by your intrusion,
They coil around your resolute feet.

Oh, but how can I resist this chaos?
This beautiful wreckage you leave in your wake?
You trample the fragile blooms of my solace,
But in their ruin, new dreams awake.

For each mark you etch on my tranquil spirit
Speaks of passion, raw and wild, untamed.
You are the storm to my placid meadow,
The fire that leaves me scalded, yet named.

Do you know the weight of your intrusion?
Do you see the paths you've scarred and worn?
And yet, I cannot bid you to leave,
For in your rapture, I am reborn.

Into the dream you come, relentless,
And I, the keeper of this fragile space,
Stand transfixed, as you carve your essence,
Into the contours of this sacred place.

So tread, my tempest, tread without mercy,
Let your boots resound in my dream's embrace.
For though you shatter, though you unmake me,
In your destruction, I find my grace.

How can I know I am moving when
the air around me is ghostly still
the room surrounds me, white and chill
and the sun peeps over the windowsill.
I lean on my talent as though it would carry me
and place blame on my family
as though they would harry me
but no one but I can defy
these workings of fate, and
I'm under obligation of no one to be great,
but my aim is to be what
I know I must be, I am not a wheel
to drive an engine I am the blade defending,
I'd die before that I love
and need no threat from below or
blessing from above.

I arrived as a child of dust and from it I derive no meaning
other than to look for such a thing
that has no answers, advancing only
at the mercy of my own whims.
I must find things I love and feed them
and in turn connect myself
to the world and breeding these passions
I'd fashion a place, my memory retrieving,
and feel fascinated and young
like the inner child I'm starting to believe in.