Dawn breaks across the sky,
with shadows dancing on the pavement.
The air, heavy and warm, remains still,
and the trees and their leaves sleep
until their inevitable wither.
The world is somber and silent,
yet whispers of the living
linger in the grass.
All seems calm, yet collapsing,
as the sun starts to fall,
and the shadows flee back
into the darkness.
My sight blurs
and life fades
into static
everything is
falling apart
yet no creature
is disturbed
all is
calm

Earth below my feet and sky over my head:
I can tread this entire earth,
and visit every destination,
yet end up nowhere.

Give me all the world's riches,
gold, silver, platinum;
print me papers of power.
Still my greed will never be satisfied.

Give me an ideal form;
The body of a god
hollow without divinity.
I'll find each imperfection.

Give me control;
bend everything to my will.
My life in my hands,
and I'll still be too weak to hold it.

Even with the earth below my feet,
I'll always refuse to walk.
Truly, theres nothing more pathetic
than a blessed beggar.

A prisoner on death row, sighing contendedly.
No one was ever sure of his crimes,
but his sentence was clear from the start.
His cell was always absurd,
his life always a mystery.

But now he finds peace.
He has nothing except what he knows;
and what he knows is his end.
It isn't much,
yet it's more than anyone free
has ever had.

There once was
a destructive creator,
breaking his creations
beyond repair.

He burned his bridges,
erased his words,
and broke his
loathsome, creating hands.

The despairing creator,
with nothing left to create,
and nothing left to destroy,
wept.

Impulsive creator,
with your empty notebooks,
and empty canvas,

what have you now?

I am just words on your screen.
Every letter, every line;
weightless in a blank world.
I have no voice.
I do not speak.
You continue to read.
And once the words end,
my life will have been nothing more
than a run-on sentence.