You and I, we're both the same
looking through water, a clear perception
Life and love, we know it's name
ocean's waves and where they're kept in


Awakened by depth, a product of two
the past concedes this gift to you
the innocent nature and suppressed abature
clouds that contour an illustrious blue


Speak no sound, just thoughts alone
a mind so ominous matters most
nothing of others may conflict in stone
intelligent airs will wisp new ghosts


Forfeit your presence from everything new
observe the fate of the human hand
this external shade, defines only few
bring judgement to those-

in search for

Dry Land

I'm scared by the lack of monsters under my bed.

Because if they aren't there now,

When will they be back?

Help me, for I am a traveler roaming this road, troubled and worried. For my mind will not rest till I am granted my eternal sleep. Till then I roam this long road of life wondering where it will take me, and what choices I make, that make me end up at the end of my road. I am scared, worried about what my past, that paints for my future. So much so as I forget to live in the present and love with all that I am. To risk my life for a life. To cheat death again and again, and to steal the happiness that sorrow tries to take from me. For I am a lone traveler the burdens are plenty, nothing but a knapsack, a pocket book full of memories, a necklace with a cross, and determination to move forward. May some god or all powerful being guide me on my journey, to finally lay my worried head to rest. Thank you.

Lies *** drugs life woman ***** respect dying love lost trouble *** smoking drunk bang theories hate cant wont music cold sweat wilpower slower apologize blonde.

Words are optional.

Love ***** with the wrong person who cant use words, But you cant blame them.

Words are optional.

Good luck and take what you will.

Owl flies in woods  .  .  .
Rush of death in the still air,
  .  .  .  Without any sound.

Song of man over,
Canary already dead,
Mother Earth sings now.

.
Gentle sounds that jar as fog rolls in—
Blue Jays knock and forage in the leaves,
Days turn to nights in a cold winter rushing,
Atop a hill overlooking my disappering village,
Darkness is expected as always unwelcomed,
My guest that will not— not come— as I wait,
To hear the lone emptiness of a fog horn blow
From out there, incoming, pray old harbour
Bay. Is it an omen of souls landing or lost?