Time such a through less thing.
As it moves along at a steady pace all of its own.
Not knowing what's going on within itself.
Or what is yet to happen.
Only knowning what has happened.
Good times go fast bad times slow.
But no matter what may happen.
Time can not say what is to happen in our lives.
Only we can make our time good or bad.
Time just keeps us moving towards our destiny.
For as long as our time may last.

A falling feather floats through the air.
  Lost from that who used to own it.
Yet holding itself up within the air for one last dance, before it is taken by the ground below.
  Floating slowly gently as it makes its way to where it will rest.
  For the feather like everything else that its time has passed, has been set free.

Falling through time with less to spear along the way.
Falling through time with nothing but time as a constant friend.
Falling through time holding hands and growing old with in it’s grasp.
Falling through time with nothing but time as a constant reminder of what could have been, or what may yet too be
Falling being the hardest thing not knowing if you’ll ever be court.

Like an old friend from years ago, yet refusing to let go.
Dragging it along behind you from one day to the next.
  As its weight grows leaving you even more alone.
And yet it is this baggage that should be left on its own, as it is things that have happen.
  And if hung on to may blind you from things yet to come.
For baggage is not the friend you should hold on to.

A bird

A bird in the dust ruffles its feathers happily.
For there’s nothing at that moment in time, that that bird would rather be doing.
  For its happy just to be flicking dust through its feathers.
And if left in peace it may even stay for quite some time.
    For this bird is so free in its ways.
And even as people walk by it, it does not care.
For it just keeps on with its fun in the dust.
  And it’s good to see something finding pleasure within something so simple.
When all around it has changed.
For that bird at that moment in time.
  Must have been as rich as the richest man.
Even though it had nothing more than dust.

Taking a breath of air and drawing life from it.
  Like the ones gone before it.
For like petrol to a car keeping an engine running.
  A breath of air keeps us moving.
Yet who knows we’re the air comes from, and where it goes after we’ve taken it?
  For like unspoken words that are just a thought.
These two are neither seen nor heard.
Yet giving without taking a breath of air brings life to all who breathe it.

Life is rolling the dice and taking whatever may come.
  For good and bad go hand and hand , just as with the sun and moon comes day and night.
And unlike sand in an hourglass life is never motionless for one moment, that we are awake.
  For like time itself it moves on even if the hands upon  a clock stop.
For Life is everything or nothing.
Life is you and what you make of yourself.

A raindrop rolls down a window pane and falls upon a sill.
  So does a teardrop roll down a cheek, to fall or be wiped away.
Yet like a photographer taking a photo to capture a moment.
  A teardrop captures emotions and paints a picture of its own, for all to see.
Yet tears can be of joy or sadness.
And as they have done so many times before.
   Tears always find the right time to fall.
Whether it be the right time for us or not.
For a teardrop holds the truth of a moment.
   In the time it is to fall.

Love for a moment “unjudged” yet not untouched.
For the last piece a long lost piece of a puzzle near complete found at last.
  For a connection made so strong that it would seem like two links of a steel chain coming together.  
   Bound in time never to be broken.
Or a moth as no matter where it is in the dark.
It always finds the light as to be attracted to it with a deep desire.
    And to dance with it as if it has danced with it all of its life.
For love is more than just a feeling it’s knowing and connecting with that someone.
For when it’s right love is like a key to a door turning a spark into a flame that burns bright.

In between the lines of life.
Somewhere in the shadows suttle secrets do we keep, from prieing eyes.
Slipping between the shadows, the pages of who we really are.
Till the sun shines upon them letting others catch a glimpse.
If only for a second till back to the shadows we carst the real.
Once again taking on the fake.
For not wanting too stand out happy to blend in.
Living life by the same page.
Yet also longing too write a new.
Waiting for a day too shine.

Lost to this world.
Streets are full yet empty without you.
Days and nights grow longer, now  seeming to be as one
never-ending lost moment standing still in time.
Lost to this world without a home.
For my home was with you.

Under lock and key is where you’ve placed this heart.
  That you now hold.
For not wanting any more.
It has now locked its door and closed its windows.
  Only to be opened by you who now holds the key.
Yet now not afraid to show that it is taken.
  As it dances to a different beat.
And it is to this end that this heart would be lost without you.

Dying moments of night mixed with new life of morning light.
  Like a stone shattering a window, the dawn brakes through the dark sky.
And in its short time brings to life a brand new day one in which is not yet to be wrote upon.
  And even though the dawn only has a small part to play in this day.  
It’s like everything else, it’s not how bigger part you play or the action you take.
  It’s what follows that makes it important.

Original for there is only ever one.
Whether it be a sunrise or set no two are the same.
And even a wave that rolls in to meet a sandy shore.
From one to the next they also change.
Yet the beauty of these things we may not forget.
For being original is what sets one thing apart from the next.
And it is to this I say we as people should be original to who we are.
For there will only ever be one of who we are.
For we too are all originals.
And it is those who stay original that may not be forgotten through time.

Here in this pain we seek unrelentless                                                                hopeless to the need not willing to be alone
As time moves more together from apart                                                                  while others are left to wait till their time may come
lonely or not this ever growing act of life                                                      unchanged in time                                                                                                                 meet by the need of someone                                                                                                                                                                                                    
Yet just as hard the act of walking alone                                                                          the act of finding someone
only to find when the end may come for one                                                              the unwillingness to let go
there after only able to have that someone in mind                                                  no longer able to hold
knowing that it may be to late to start a new                                                   suddenly feeling the pain for what it is                                                                                To hold a broken heart hoping in time it may mend                                                                  
Being one we would gladly suffer                                                                                            even change who we are if only to have someone                                                            to hold till we are to feel this pain
In which we eagerly unknowingly stride towards                                                 that of which is left after love                                                                                               if not love again

In your eyes from the first time I looked you captured me.
standing at the end of time couldn't look away.
Didn't know your name didn't need too.
Yet just in time you had come to be in front of me.
Standing still a moment to take a breath .
As you steel me from a moment of lifelessniss.
As you bring me falling back into life.
Unbeknownst to all of this there you stand with a smile.
Not knowing I was saved by you.

Living between the pages and lines.
Written through days and nights.
Where the real me comes to life.
Letting go of the fake what other people would make of me.
And turning instead to another page to make it my own.
Leaving my mind to wonder with its own thoughts.
While feeling right at home, even if nowhere but between the
pages and lines of a book.

Life is but a rose bright in first bloom.
  It colours bright but delicate to show its beauty.
   It stem strong to show its strength.
Each may look the same but each are different.
As time drifts by after a while things change.
The rose grows dim its colour once bright now faded.
   Its stem once stronger now weak.
The rose now withered may sadly silently die.
But for each that dies.
  In time another will bloom brightly in its place.
Such as life it will always go on.