What's your resolution?
What was your last?
Is it worth the false hope,
looking back on your past?

The sky was falling

But they were still flipping coins around

Their mother calling

But they were still lost and never to be found



It was a world of their own

It was their home

It was a world of their own

It was their Rome



At Rome where films sparked from their fingertips

And paintings splashed from their minds

Where everyday was lunar eclipse

And in the moon there he finds



Her caterpillar, her centipede

Of hundreds of untold stories

And so inside he was freed

Of glorious past and past glories



And there she goes

Climbing the mountain

And there he goes

Waiting at the fountain



They meet and leave

And say profound things

They dance, believe

They are the kings

Of their Rome (x3)



And the sky fell

Their coins were in the air

Dancing as well

To the things they share

Of their days at Rome

And of their home

When mother was still calling

Them.

The slow broken time

makes you think why

would one wake up if

morning is not free

from the night



Only yesterday is born

into this ghost

of a universe that

never asks for

our dance

desire to know like

God



We haunt out the

present to explore

question

foolish like laughing

but sadly and as

you see



Most seep away

down with deep ocean

as sacred prisoners

in darkness

like men



A breath

It's the night of our dear Christmas,
and I alone am making noise,
for my brothers and sisters retired from joy,
and I'm shaken by the beauty of our first snow of this year.  
The ground, not powdered, but littered in pounds,
of the sticking white water that falls, so profound,
is entrancing and frozen and terribly cold,
but I am in love, and I am thankful.

The air is thick with peace,
and every breath holds the promise of fresh life.
Tomorrow begins a new day, as always,
and if I shall live to witness its glory,
I will try harder than before,
and so on, and so forth,
and so on, and so forth.