The days can raise colorless
Born among mysterious everybodies,
The Sad Ones carry shreds of darkness
With them tangled in the fringes
Of their lives.
They cannot drag another down,
They give happiness where
None can be taken,
They can illuminate
The saddest people and take
Their pain like an offering.
They walk among the souls
With silent faces and drowsy
Existence.
The Sad Ones
Disperse into the Winters' depths
Where winter honors grey days
And starless nights.
From their secrets or pains
Come a gathered endurance
And can illuminate with
A wisdom of regret and sorrow,
Like colored plumes of dark flora
They roam spinkled among
The masses to bring the bright side
Of things they know nothing of.

They have wings,
The Sad Ones do,
Gentle but firm wings gilded
In murmured words never spoken,
Winds of the lovers never taken,
Watching moonrises
Over sighing waves.
Their home is a lonely peak
Where clouds sit on mountains
And forever remain,
There they reflect on the sadness
Of most kisses and symbolic love.
And they are forgotten when
The people encounter them,
Though misery loves
A little company, the others do not
Stay in the dark.

The Sad Ones,
They are dreams forgotten,
A smile returning,
The bring about the light for others
In their dark lonesome hearts,
They are hidden away like memory,

And they keep other smiling
As they sigh above the moonlit waves
Sighing in the darkness.

Thunderclaps in the ears,
A crown of grey hovers,
Sordid and sorrow,
absurdly familiar with a half smile.

Ironic and inflated with nerves
Of rubber bands, atrociously
Used to the jester's tears
And the slow agony of its entertainment.

And we stand when it hurts,
Pace when we are worried,
Let us walk the daily grind......

Through it all we cry and fizzle,
Drowned in the warmth of the tears,
The pain is familiar, the saddest clown!

Perhaps, maybe
There is a man that truly loves a woman,
And they will love each other
Forever in the light
And happily under God's watch.
Perhaps, maybe
They are fed up deep inside,
Sickened of the repetitive days
That fill the emptiness with
Nothing and out of that nothing
They **** each other slowly
Everyday.

All is invisible,
The unspeakable silence
That penetrates the ears louder
Than the love we make.
And the things left unsaid
Unite the hope of the two
That it might be spoken
To fill the abyss that grew
From the light of their love.

And they live life to the fullest
And think they had a good run,
They are lovers and tireless
Husband and wife.

Perhaps, maybe this is the only truth
They may ever know.

He died on a Tuesday.
And I know he must descend
Like vertigo on on a sunshine day.
And must ascend to a new place
Where the infinite beyond he visits
In waves of willow trees
On rolling hills past ancient
Words spoken only in holy places.

And the soul is on a journey
To no particular flesh, laying
Waste to karma and decidedly
Has become new dust to swirl
As old as the soul, so very young
To God infinite.

Outside of time,
A place between spaces
Through cracks like windowpanes
He celebrates his life.
Along the way he will pass
Those who have passed before him,
Whose words have become like
Eternal moments,
Whose lives have known the temporary
And the beauty of unknowing.

Perhaps - maybe...
His soul journeys on into forever
And back again,
Open door of wombs to what
New dreams may come.

He died on a Tuesday
And returned to forever.

And where is your life
After you have faked death?
(I can hear the whispers)
I send myself notes to find
And surprise myself with.

Even though I lost my friends,
Even though I am just a shadow
Of my former self,
Suddenly here in the mist
I see them all nameless.
And in the mist where madmen
Believe in dreams and scare
Away hapless prayers,
Suddenly I cant tell if my
Arrogance was elegant
Or simply a fools sacrament.

Perhaps-maybe
I will pulled the switch
At my own execution and stand here
Alone searching for love
Among the thorns,
Alive but Ded,
And maybe someone will give
A **** enough to stop me
From further looking like
The insane narcissistic man
I believe myself to be.

Still I feel compelled to teach
A parrot a badword or two,
Never again will anyone mourn
Over me,
Sad because the tears brought me
Such a sorrowful joy.

Before the fog aligns itself
To clog the vision behind your mask,
Before the death of life clouded
Your trust in the Heavens,
Before the desolate wave of sadness
Clouded the very star that guided you,
Before the savage tears you shed
When the lie killed your truth,
Before the door closed in the night
And you drowned in the silence,

You left behind a fleeting light
That was created nust for you,
But as darkness falls the words
That were like children,
The days that were like
A thousand lakes under the sun,
The words that scattered like
Light through the crystal memory,
Came forth a boundless vacancy.

And the night is torn apart,
Deep into the hours where
Memory and names do not matter,
When it seems the hope has sailed forever,
The words will echo deep
Into the mind and eternal
Poetry will be born unto thee
The death of the present will
Be owed to the loss of who you once were....

Through my window
Nigh on midnight
Falling snowflakes
In the moonlight
Swirling, falling
Something calling
Me toward another world…

Each exquisite
Crystal lattice
Gifts from God
To us, por gratis
Hidden meaning
Knowledge gleaning
Knowledge of another world…

Something stirring
Deep inside me
Heart and Spirit,
Join to guide me
Toward the door;
Toward something more
Portal to another world…

Slowly, surely
Fog is lifting
Veil dissolving
Snowflakes drifting
Diamond whiteness
Mirrors brightness
Shining from another world…

Very close now
Drawing nearer
Misty vision
Growing clearer
Throne room glorious
King victorious
Conqueror from another world…

Music deaf’ning
Church bells ringing
Roaring, tolling,
Angels singing,
Ground is quaking,
Trembling, shaking,
Glorious, wondrous other world!

Veil descending,
Vision fading,
Crumbling, ending,
Fast abating,
I am grasping,
Clutching, clasping,
Yearning for another world.

Road before me,
Doubts behind me,
I implore thee,
Lord, remind me:
You have sought me,
Found me, bought me.
I was made for other worlds.

Snowflakes are the perfect metaphor for people.
Each minuscule,Crystallized,phenomenon  that floats down from the sky has its own unique pattern,which they perform in their own manner.

But from the cold window pane, surrounded by the frost, a little girl with the eyes that glow with the depth of universal love, casting off stardust as a diamond casts fire and they glisten like embers of a fire in a desert night, glancing upwards they reflect the heavens above.

She sees we all have the same structure from the many around as there is.
No one will notice the differences we hold, unless they care enough to stop in the crisp, white, shining covering that transforms the landscape making it a magical land full of wonder and undiscovered mysteries.

So you see, snowflakes are a perfect metaphor for people because all we are is simply majestic beings, filled with passion, mystery, but with vulnerability, waiting to be discovered.

Each life is nothing but a small snowflake.

Each is unique,
beautiful,
fragile,
and soft.

Each lasts for merely a moment in time,
but its impact lasts.

Each can create dangerous blizzards,
only when many decide to hate.

But.

Each can create a soft snowfall,
as beautiful as a White Christmas,
when many decide to love.

So.

Life can be a snowstorm
or
a tranquil snowfall.