Darkness is everywhere.
But then again so is light,
As long as the sky is there
To hold up the stars.
It has a brave job, the night sky.
To hold up so much light,
Like the moon and the countless
Amount of stars,
When you're still surrounded by darkness.
But at the same time, the night sky
Doesn't seem so dark.
Just as long as the moon and stars
Are there to keep it company.

.If I live to be one hundred
(But God forbid I do)
May I never forget to keep my friends many
And my enemies very few.

May I always remember
To only look above
And the only time I look down on another soul
Is to help them stand with love.

For every soul no matter how small
Is to be shown the greatest amount of care
From the strays that crawl upon the ground
To my winged friends in the air

So, While the world holds their own decision
And while they have their right to critize
I will always be one to mention
That I am a friend to the flies.

Would you breath me in
If I gave you my breath
Would you be my friend
If I had nothing left

And if I asked you
If you would take my hand
Would you shy away
Or would you help me stand

Stay with me
I can feel you moving closer now
There's so much to see
Let me show you how

And I would give you
All my dreams tonight
So you wouldn't be afraid
As you turned out the lights
And I would let you see
Everything that you mean to me
If I could only give you my eyes
If I could only give you my eyes

I would lose my sleep
If you felt alone
Every promise I would keep
That you whisper on the phone

But if i grew weak
Would you be at my side
Would you be my strength
With your arms opened wide

Stay with me
I can feel you moving closer now
There's so much to see
Let me show you how

And I would give you
All my dreams tonight
So you wouldn't be afraid
As you turned out the lights
And I would let you see
Everything that you mean to me
If I could only give you my eyes
If I could only give you my eyes

I enjoy the concept of writing using a feather quill, for the fact that some truth can be found in it. Like the bird who lost its feather, we do not know where it will nest, we only know where it's journey started. Much like our own story.

Tis I-the one who walks the weary mile. The one who escapes my past, though I walk in reverse, keeping my eyes set on those who I have met before and God forbid their arrows that fly by night will not pierce my own nerve.

The world burns books as if the trees themselves were seeking revenge hoping to rise once again from the ashes.

An author must have inspiration for the words they write in order to give them life.