The discovery of true words
Is but one of the many mysteries we seek
Both under stones and under moon
And in the volumes of our histories, we find
That no two words were ever successfully left alone
No sentence of the mind was ever so perfect as to be
The word of God without inspiration
No, mere mortal words I find to be
The loneliest of lonely things
But true words are of a great ideal
And ideals are often shrouded in such mysteries
And THIS … Is where you may laugh at me

(:

The water with its honest breath
And the inevitability therein
Will always waiver with the tides
And bring such truth back to me
Like a tempest, with ebb, it begins

Behind the mask of distant past
Where the memories still mill abound

Within the frame of paper mache
Where the words, oh yes, the words can be found

Beneath the eyes, below the cheeks
Is a smile ever winding down

And I am but one such memory, perhaps
As a word once kept around

As the wind whips through the valley, so do these thoughts breeze through my mind.

Suddenly.
Occasionally.
Coolly.

Contemplating you and then some, other someone, some other time.

Steadfast and true as are the rooted trees of are.

Not ours mind you.

Though the wind itself is never so consciously on my mind.

You are.
At times.
On mine.

A man
Falls always from his pen again
And rolls a thought into a distant hand

As stories
Ever meant to pass
Are passed by
With the hope of hopes

That in someone else's world
His words will last

Powerful fingers
You will know them when you see them
Holding stars, holding planets
In between their webbedd wisdom

Hear them snap inside a thunderclap
And grasp the cup turned skywards
Hold the palm to match the desert
Each crevasse a meadow river

From the creator to the created
A hand to offer, hand to hold
So much for power and for wisdom
For every story ever told

Has been by his hands

You know, the easiest part of saying or reading someone else's words, is that you get to walk away from them at the end of the day.

You always remember the last time
Iconicized within your mind

Think back to when it was actually then
And you'll find it out over and over again

Like a slowing dance
With contented sigh
You can hear the fond memories rolling by
At a gradual pace

Be it in truth to pass
Or in feelings which last

There is the feeling of first
And the memory of last

With a rain like this
That would never stop
I'd wish it not over
Again and again
That way I wouldn't have to face the sunshine
Let alone call it mine
When this need for a new life of mine
Must begin

Adjust your glasses
Ever slight
The way your shoulder turns a corner
Such a beautiful pattern, not in shirt
But within your features glowing bright  
Expressive as the newborn day
Collected as the cooling night
Adjust your glasses once again
A habitual study within sight