It must be the small things that make the difference
The birds singing in the morning light
It must be the small things, some near some distant
Have we really  become beauty resistant?
To moonbeams chasing sunbeams
Sunshine filtering through green clad glades
Memories  I treasure are haunting my dreams
It would be funny, if it wasn’t tragic
We are losing the plot, forgetting the magic
Why are these pockets of joy too hard to find?
Why do we ignore the small things
Why are they forgotten, when did we leave them behind?

walls can hold the stars,

if you stay there long enough.

in the corner there's a sun,

and another has a moon.

when you put them all together,

all you have is just a room.

turbulent eyes and worn hands
faded tattoos from long-forgotten
drunken nights
marks of needle prinks
and a southern slurred speech
- you were kind to me

The place where reality and hope cross paths

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."