The world in which we live is so very sad.
Filled with agony, sorrow, and unending regret,
It is right that those who prosper are those who are driven mad.

We have destroyed, razed, and burnt down everything that was once grand,
The beauty of the past has been overtaken by sand.

Tragedies are now common, there’s always one to share,
From friends here and there, and those we haven’t yet met
So hearing has become a chore, for one, which I do not care.

Only a fool believes that the tortoise will out run the hare,
And though the path seems smooth there is always another stair.

Though Lions will always hunt, and cows forever graze,
And man will be forever lost in a Daedalian maze.
For the world in which we live is so very sad,
That we often times forget that we are the ones who make it so grand.

I've seen the wolves a'dancing,
and the trees have all been sold
The acorns have been awhile talking
and the animals have all grown old

I've known a wind a'blowing
that rustles through all the trees,
the deer have been awhile walking
and the animals are ready to leave

I've heard rivers a'running
that smash against all the rocks
the men have been awhile hunting
and the bears have begun to talk

I've seen the wolves a'dancing
and mountains that swallow the sky
the stars have been awhile setting
while the moon shines on you and I.

The woods are such a darkened place
Corrupted by the world we live
A cold, undisrupted space
Used by the world as its sieve

I seek to please only the one
The one, the one, which pleases me
It is the dark of which I sung
Near stark ground and the cold tree

But the ground grows cold
And the bark has grown rough
My love has grown old
Yet I have not enough

The crossroads at which I have stood,
Harken first to the land I love
Then to another made from wood,
To be a statue or a dove

Freedom from man or freedom from me
So I choose to build what I cannot destroy
and break from the strains of society.
For I refuse to act as but a child’s toy

On the curb of eternity
Living only to be free
Trapped by the will and the seen
That which is not those but only me

Gone asleep has this house,
Blown down by the wind’s desire.
Only shook by God,
Yet ruined by the fire.

From the shore this boat steered,
Across the Styx and its mire.
Lead by only those
Dressed in obscene attire.

A length of beard, unkempt,
Hung long from the man with ire.
A cup of hemlock
Did make myth a martyr.

From the dreary coast rise
Memories that had been sired,
A forgotten place,
Shone bright on the Tiber.

The raven’s call make us believe,              
Believe we may be more than we can.        
The doves listen close                           
For things that we ne’er cherish most        
While we sink into the sand.                          

Calls bellow and their wings do flap            
Higher to the sun do they ascend.                
Follow them we do             
Towards horizons and oceans blue              
In hopes of making amends                            

Crests rise to where eyes cannot meet      
Realizing what has been found, they hid.  
In streets of marble                                          
And temples hollow,
Still are words that utter so subtle,
Life will die without its rib.

I came upon this land that was so far from home,
Far beyond the lands that have been sown.
Free from the tools that burden its ground,
And safe from feet that always push down.

It is dawn’s break and the moon’s rise,
It is the soft of moss and the sharp of knives.
A place haunted by it’s own ghost,
Free from noise and so silent on its coast.

I wish to stay for a long time,
To walk the woods
and make this silent coast mine.
With no cloak, no shield, not even a sword,
I will rule over this place as its lord.

Let humility and hubris be forgot,
And I will rule as others have not.
Far from lands that have been sown,
Blazing a trail that will be my own.

While my heart yearns for what once was home,
I fear that I will hunger for what was once known.
Though when I leave, I’ll be sure to say before I go,
That you, my land, I loved you so.

Among the oaks sits the silence of man,
it sits without stir and without a cause,
believed to be the undiscovered land,
the leaves do not fall, laying at a pause.

The light of the sun gently settles down,
through branches broken only by the shamed
upon scarred leaves that cover the ground
fear of losing love and all to be gained.

The eternal winter has come to stay
as softened ground has come only to hear
sounds of the masses who refuse to pray.

Through all sounds, if you give just one ear,
You'll still hear whispering above the land
the beauty that is the silence of man.