It's early in the morning quiet as can be
closely listen to falling rain
It's early in morning raindrops  falling hard
I look out to see, it's dark as can be
Stormy seas, stormy seas
Listen to the falling rain
Listen to the falling rain
I look out to see

I have burden to carry,
This burden to keep
To hide it till my last
My burden of my past.

A story you won't read
An unwritten plead
This burden cut my wings
I have stopped flying

I'd rather you reach the skies
Be not caught up in the lies
Touch the twinkling stars
Not carry the matching scar.

Sometimes the truth never heals
the burn never soothes
No one can appeal
No one knows the truth.

My end will be the end
the time, unburdened
my unmeasured breathe
intake of relief, no air.

Seven times we've danced around
That darkest mark of days,
Drifting past the gravity
From whence his path did stray.

Seven journeys round a sun
That no more knows the shade
Of eyes that witnessed 22
And barely more a day.

Seven trips and many moons
Spent staring at the sky,
Wishing I could raise my wrist
And grasp the reasons why

Seven's worth of dreams in which
The 'why' evades me still
And why I when I caress the skin
I feel naught but the chill.

Seven come and seven gone
And seven on my skin
And yet untouched by seven are
The memories of him.

Colors change like the wind
              air breezy
Watching hues of trees
each one unique
Colors change like the wind
flowers still holding on
       with frosted evenings
Colors change like the wind
      Every day brings warmth
              from the sun
Colors change like the wind

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

there have been
too many fights lately

she was a
musician
and she put it as,
“Darling, we need to change
the tune.”

He was a
writer
and he shot her

and then himself

I don’t want a memory of you
in my head, bothering me.
Skip past our music,
avoid that place.
The little things that
make me miss you.
Go away.
Except,
you brought me love.
Self-confidence.
Memory seems to be the price.