We all reach for eternity
But we're all beat back by Time

Music is maternity
I like cranberry juice and lime

Many are the homeless
Many search for signs

Such cruelty in this world
I pray the silence is benign

the temples built of gold, silks finely spun,
a song of palaces in babylon,
where mede's daughter pined beneath the sun,
for mountain streams and hills to walk upon.
before the persians let the city fall,
great babylon held asia to the east,
the hanging gardens near the mighty wall,
their history told by an ancient priest.
if herodotus added to his tale,
he lent to grandeur with a poet's tongue,
a vision by euphrate's winding vale,
the river flowing where his story sung.
nebuchadnezzar built to please his queen,
to bring her trees and vines of verdant green.


amytis - daughter of king medes.
king nebuchadnezzar 2nd - built the gardens
herodotus - greek historian from ionia.

Smooth and undefined
My pen is unguided
My papers scratched apart
I fear the tear in the white
but I ruin it still

You held back tears
For many years
People saw the smile
But knew not your fears
Darkness now gone
Head no longer spinning
Now’s the start
Of a beautiful beginning
No more struggles
No more fights
Now comes the age
Of love and light

they took her to the doleful traitor’s gate,
where none could save her life or bring release,
along the river to a heavy fate,
no harp or dulcimer to give her peace.
the world had turned away, the tudor rose
in ruins at her feet, the fickle king,
inconstant, needing sons, the river flows
with royal blood where sorrow’s angels sing.
“to jesus i commend my soul,” she cried,
she wore damask, her mantle was ermine,  
poor cramer heard the cannon as she died,
he fell and wept, forgave her every sin.
  the strings were broken on the violin,
  that sang no more for laughing anne boleyn.