The strongest men are not made of steel
They’re not born of iron or lined with ore
No the strongest men will wait and endure  
For whatever they want
Until the world turns no more

No one sees me when I smile
Wider than my eyes can bear
Cooler than the coolest spring
Which you could find within this muggy summer air
Because when I grin
There is no sense of urgency or care
There is only me and my eyes which crease
Like folded paper flying through the humid air  
For my smile is this
Not because I wish to hide it
Or even because I overly care
But because my purest form happiness
Is only seen when not prepare
Alive and well in its natural state
Most often outside and always wide
Something you might see across my face
As a representation of what's inside*
(:

I say this with a glass of humility
That I've built worlds up and down these streets
And surrounded myself with all manner of things
Which I've pulled from inside of myself and out
And spread around
Like butter on my creative roll
With only this glass to wash it down
I am hungry for the here and not
The creation which keeps me wide awake
When all others have fallen asleep in my town
Even this very expression was kept on a shelf
Hence why...
I generally keep such things to myself
For a glass of humility is better than milk
At settling my mind and stomach down

A pendulum, rocking to the heartbeat of eternity
In time, in tune, in step with the world
Inside of the footprint of this city street

Like a whisper in the passing wind
Or a whistle nearby yet unseen
Striding forward with a massive force
Unstoppable as the former me

This is the essence of my own demise
And the love which grew too strong and too quickly
In order to keep my song alive

And yet through this I've become an entity
So I will rock for eternity, back and forth atop the hill
And also in the flatlands in the east
Where the whispers were first heard to me

If I could ask one thing of you
Make one wish
It would be that one day you would see this sight
Exactly as it is
Just like this
Standing atop this former mountain
Looking down into the valley of change
For miles and miles
Just to witness it
To view this world
Not as it once was or could’ve been
But for the beauty of the fading mist
For the aching, moaning, weeping wood
Which cries out for eyes
Which slowly degrades as the hilltop fades
Beneath the last few rays of light
As the day succumbs to the edge of night
Know that all that I want for you is to see
What it is, what it was
And what I suspect that it means
At least to my eyes and the likes of me
From this hilltop I wish you could see

How patient are the arms of the trees
To hold out and hold on
To the weight of the weighed winters snow
In place of their own
Their children, their leaves
Which have long since left left for the distant ground
Having moved on to another town
How they’re holding on and beholden now
How kind are these?
Such winter trees

As the sky looks back to return my surprise
With almost longing and lingering eyes
I am enchanted now by what I see
Just beyond the clouds within the sky  
Not a nebula of precarious height
But a collective unit (almost) organized
How they absolutely are and alive
How the creator created them all to burn
In such a particular direction and light
Would you repaint the picture that is my life?
To better reflect the collectedness
And the calmness found in this cold night

These trees are older than myself
And only half of them see the sun
As it sets beyond the distant ground
They're taller than me and I am tall
They've been reaching for the sky for far too long
Long before I could even crawl
My only brother's are these trees
And yet I've never acknowledge them as they are
As tall and faithful
As my slowly falling family
The kind of trees which stand to be
Such are these looming trees to me

I am the rolled up sleeves before it's socially acceptable.  Before 3:00.
I am the rooftop climber and the moonlight gazer.  Swinging in the bitter wind.
I am the patient one.  The tag along.  Often kind but on my own.
And always off in my own mind.
Completely different.  And yet the same.
I am one.  *One of a certain kind.

She is everything I wish to be mine
I can attest to the aptitude of her body
Like the wave of her hair as she passes by
But I've yet to confirm the hope within
That being her true lovelliness of mind